Letters
by Skippy-the-Rabbit
Summary: Charlie Weasley needs a place to stay, so Hermione Granger offers him her spare room. What could possibly go wrong? Oh, only falling for the wrong Weasley... Chapter 11 is here - in which something finally happens :P
1. Correspondence

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or the characters/places/events mentioned below. No profit was made from the writing of this, please do not sue. **

_1__st__ September_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Thanks for helping me move in! I really appreciate it, anytime you want something done, you know where to come, etc. Oh, and I am VERY MUCH LOOKING FORWARD TO (hint, hint, hint) all the details of your date with Harry! _

_Work at the Ministry is very boring. I was talking to Percy the other day (which reminds me - you remember his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, from back in Hogwarts? Well, they're back together! It's cute really, 'cause they're clearly infatuated with each other. But I don't think anyone's supposed to know yet, so I'm not telling you this…)._

_Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, I was talking to Percy the other day, and he was saying that he has a couple of friends who took the Magical Law course that I'm on, and he said that they said that first year was the worst, as you don't get to sit in on any cases or anything and it was all book work; second year was better as you got to sit in on cases and stuff, but apparently everyone treats you like you're stupid and all you end up doing is fetching coffee for everyone and third year is hell 'cause of exams. Great._

_But then, I guess, it'll be worth it in the end. I hope._

_Also, Ron is pissing me off a LOT. Last year, we had such a good relationship, but part of me is starting to think that it was because we were apart so much. It was just easier when I was at Hogwarts, and he was away doing his training, as we didn't get to meet up as much, but now, I see him every weekend, when I go to the Burrow and I see bump into him at work most days, and it's like it's too much._

_He lords over me the fact that he's a second year, and I'm only a first, which is ridiculous, as we're doing different courses, so there's no point competing. But he seems to think that there is, or something. I don't know, I think this is the first time he's just been "better" and more advanced than me at something, and I think he likes that. I'll let him have that feeling this once … I get bored with it after a while!_

_Anyway I've got to go now. I have to read a book (yes, I can hear you laughing, but it's entitled "Laws Regarding Dragons In The Late Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Century and What Relevance They Have Today". I am very much looking forward to it. Heavy sarcasm)._

_Hope you're having fun on tour with the Harpies, and don't forget to tell me about your Going Away date with Harry (I am very intrigued - he's walked around with a blissful smile on his face for the past four days, so I'm dying to know what has gone on, as his response was merely "it was fun. I had a great time". Men)._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione _

_PS Your Mum says (apparently, you'll take it better from me) that on NO ACCOUNT are you to even THINK about doing ANYTHING with any Quidditch players (her capitals, not mine), but don't worry: I think she's more worried about your Harry's relationship than your virtue! H x_

* * *

_3__rd__ September_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you for your letter. I've never had a proper letter before. Mum always wrote me notes to keep me up-to-date with what was going on at home when I was at Hogwarts, but that's it, really. I like it - we should write to each other as often as possible, seeing as we're not going to see each other for AGES!_

_So, here goes with the details of my date with Harry:_

_- 2pm: Am at home. Decide to relax by having soothing bath. At same time, decide will shave legs, underarms etc in a bid to control the hairy monster gene that wants to turn me into Hagrid._

_- 2:05pm: Give up on shaving as a bad job when lacerate legs. Decide that charming the hair off is probably a better option. _

_-2:25pm: Climb out of bath. Dry self, and curl hair._

_-2:35pm: Put on sexy underwear (front fastening bras are VERY uncomfortable. Leave Ron to struggle with the normal back-fastening ones. Trust me. They're just too much faff.)_

_-2:40pm: Wonder what to wear. Remove entire set of clothes from wardrobe._

_-4:45pm: (I am not even kidding.) Put on red wrap dress (very low neckline, but knee-length hem. It's the one fashion tip I've ever taken from my Mum - aside from don't wear pink 'cause you'll look awful - and it is "Boobs out, legs in; legs out, boobs in" otherwise you look like a prostitute)._

_-4:47pm: Wonder what shoes to wear_

_-4:48pm: Decide as only have three pairs of "going out shoes" - the gold ones of yours which don't suit the dress; the red ones that I snapped the heel off of one by mistake and haven't had time to reparo it yet (yes, I know it's a simple spell, but I never like to mess magically with clothes/shoes before a Big Event, in case I do something wrong and they disappear in the middle of said Event. Just in case, you know?) and my black patent ones, with the very high heel. Have to wear black ones, but is no great hardship as they make my legs look rather good._

_-4:50pm: Do make-up, without removing eyeballs with mascara wand, amazingly._

_-5:00pm: Wait in living room-cum-dining room-cum-kitchen thing for Harry to arrive._

_-6.00pm: Harry arrives. Have tidied whole flat whilst waiting, to take my mind off things. Didn't work, but now have very clean flat. _

_-6:05pm: Apparate to Diagon Alley. Worry that Harry is going to take me to The Leaky Caldron for dinner and am too dressed up. Need not have worried: we have a reservation at Pinot's._

_-Have very romantic meal. Harry can be v. sensitive when he wants. Food delicious. Décor fabulous. Harry gorgeous. _

_-10.00pm: Apparate back to my flat for a drink_

_-8:00am: Harry leaves my flat for the Ministry. And no, he didn't sleep on the sofa._

_It was lovely - but I won't go into any graphic details. BUT - what about you?! Do you want me to have a word with my prat of a brother? He TOTALLY doesn't deserve you AT ALL. And I don't know why he's pretending he's better than you - you could totally kick his ass at second year Auror training, even though you're a first year law whatsit! Just ignore him - he's just jealous of your wonderful-ness._

_And Percy and Penelope, eh? Well, she's probably as boring as he is! Just kidding - Mum and Dad … and all the rest of us, as well, I guess, couldn't have survived the past year without Percy sorting everything out after Fred's … well, anyway. It's nice he's got someone, really._

_OH - and I know what I meant to tell you: you know Angelina Johnson's with the Harpies, like me? I was talking to her the other day, and apparently her old friend Katie Bell, and George have got something going on! Just a little something, mind … apparently they're still in the vaguely-treading-round-each-other stage, but you never know. DON'T TELL MUM THOUGH! _

_Well, I must fly … he he, literally - training session. Enjoy your book, and tell Mum that Harry and I are NOT splitting up, ever! (Also does she realise that Harry is an ex-Quidditch player? So technically she's forbidden me from going out with him. Oooh, I'm such a rebel!) _

_Love you lots,_

_Ginny xxx_

_PS You don't have to thank me for helping you to move in. You did the same for me - I was just returning the favour x_

* * *

Charlie appeared in Bill and Fleur's kitchen, early one morning, startling Fleur, and causing her to spill coffee all over her cream coloured nightgown. "Ah, merde!" she exclaimed, cleaning it hurriedly. "Ah, Charlie, you scared me so much! What are you doing 'ere, at zeese time in ze morning?"

"Can't I just drop by to see my favourite brother and sister-in-law sometime?" He teased, refilling her cup for her.

"Pah! I am your _only_ sister-in-law!" she replied, but with a twinkle in her eye. "What ees eet that you want? Bill is not 'ere; zere was an emergency at ze bank, so 'e 'ad to go in early."

"An emergency? At the bank?" Charlie asked.

Fleur made a tsk-ing sound under her breath. "Zeese goblins, zey are paranoid something ees going to 'appen, ever since 'arry and Ron and 'ermione broke in last year. Eet ees nothing," she said, and Charlie was reassured. Fleur was not one for hiding her feelings, and if it were something to worry about, she would have let him know. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Well, I was wondering if I could ask you - and Bill, of course - a big favour," he began, accepting the mug of coffee she handed to him. "I've been promoted-"

"Congratulations!" Fleur said, in her throaty, Gallic voice.

"Thank you," replied Charlie. "But the problem is, part of my promotion is to supervise the implementation of a new dragon reserve here in Wales. The Ministry have decided that they are going to set one up, so they can have their own supplies of dragon blood, and so on, instead of relying on other countries for imports, and because our reserve in Romania is quite well established, they wrote and asked us to send someone over."

"And you were picked?" asked Fleur.

"Yeah," replied Charlie. "The problem is, it's from the beginning of October, to around mid-November - they said they would only need me for two months tops - so there's no point me getting a flat or anything. There's going to be no housing on the site until around when I'm leaving, 'cause that's the last thing to be built, and the first lot of rooms go to the people who're staying there all the time. So, I really need somewhere to stay, and I was wondering if you and Bill could possibly put me up in your spare room? I could pay rent, of course."

"Ah, Charlie, I am so sorry," Fleur replied. "Bill and I would love to 'ave you 'ere, but my sister is coming to stay for three weeks at ze beginning of October, so zere will be no room, I am sorry."

"No, no, it's no trouble! I'll find somewhere, don't worry about me," he assured her.

"Why can you not stay at ze Burrow, wiz your parents?" Fleur asked, confused.

Charlie's ears went red, and he looked at the floor. "I … there are … it would be … " he stumbled over his words, hoping Fleur would say something and help him out, but she just looked at him shrewdly and waited. "I can't stay there, because there are too many memories. Of Fred … and things. And the last time I stayed there … it was for Fred's f-funeral. I don't want … " his voice drifted off.

"I see," said Fleur quietly, but very kindly. "Eet ees the same for Bill. 'E cannot do it either. But don't tell 'im I told you. 'Owever, you must go back one day, for your muzzer's sake. She would be very offended."

"Yes - Mum is another thing," Charlie said. "Sometimes I get burns and stuff, from the dragons. Nothing a bit of Dittany can't handle - this one," he said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and pointing to a mark on his arm, "I got yesterday and it was about the size of my fist, but there's hardly a mark there today, and by tomorrow it'll be gone. But if Mum was to see me when the burns are fresh … well, she'd worry so much. I don't think it would be fair on her."

Fleur nodded in agreement. "Yes, zat would not be very wise. Would you like something to eat, by ze way?"

"Oh, no," he answered, standing up. My Portkey leaves in ten minutes, so I have to get back to the Ministry. Tell Bill I dropped by. I'll write soon."

"You always tell 'im that and you never do," she joked, walking with him to the edge of the protective boundaries of Shell Cottage with Charlie.

"Neither does he, though!" Charlie pouted. Fleur laughed.

"Au revoir, Charlie. I will see you sometime," she said, and Charlie disappeared.

* * *

_5__th__ September_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Hey there! It is I, your most favourite brother of them all. (That's Charlie, if you can't work it out). I need a favour, please. _

_I've been offered a promotion at work, part of which entails me working to help set up a new dragon reserve in Wales (long story, cannot be bothered to write it all down) and I need a place to stay when I'm in the country (again, another very long story, which I can't be bothered to write). It'd be from the beginning of October to mid-November (end of November at the latest). Could I possibly, possibly stay in your flat? I could pay you rent, and all that. _

_Let me know,_

_Charlie_

* * *

_5__th__ September_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Oh! My! God! Harry is just so cute! He's so thoughtful and lovely to you . . . I might have to start dating him myself (that was a JOKE. I was KIDDING. Don't kill me, please!). That red dress of yours makes you look stunning - I bet he couldn't keep his eyes off you! And I was wondering where my gold shoes had gone (joke, joke) but, seriously, you can keep them if you want. They were always the teensiest bit too small for me . . . I could've stretched them, I suppose, but I don't really have any clothes that they go with. Plus, I also have an excuse for buying some new shoes! _

_I am incredibly jealous of you at the moment, for two main reasons. The first is that you actually like your job. I do like mine . . . it's just the stuff we're doing at the moment is so dull. _

_I have three main teachers: Rowena Vane (yes, a relation to Romilda - her mother. She's a nice person, just incredibly boring. I mean, the stuff we're doing at the moment, about dragon laws, is really interesting, but she just makes it sound like a History of Magic lesson.), Archibald Fittigus (who is really nice and funny, and everyone likes him, but he doesn't do many lectures, so I don't have him that often) and Elias Copweld (who is not just boring, but so evil and nasty that he makes Snape look positively loving). _

_It is something I want to do with my life . . . the whole Law Enforcement thing, I mean. I just hate the training. Plus, there's no one on the course I really know at all . . . there's a couple of Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuffs from what was always the year below me at school, until I re-took; and a girl and a boy from Beauxbatons, and two girls from Durmstrang. But I don't really talk to any of them, other than the usual "Good Morning" and "Did you have a nice weekend?". Meh. I'll live though._

_The other reason I'm jealous of you? Harry. He is so nice and sweet towards you . . . and he's ridiculously in love with you. Whenever I see him at work, he's just like "Ginny this" and "Ginny that". It's so adorable! _

_Whereas . . . Ron. Don't get me wrong, I do love him - he's just being so . . . inconsiderate, really. There's not just the whole "I'm a second year so I'm better than you" thing (which is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, to tell you the truth), it's also the fact that he's being so rude, lately. He keeps doing these stupid little things, which will sound really petty if I write them down, and, yes, if it was just one or two of them I would overlook it, 'cause everyone does it occasionally . . . but it's ALL THE TIME._

_Like the other day, at work - he made a point of buying me lunch, which was really nice of him, I thought, until I realised that he had brought me an egg sandwich, which I've said before I really don't like, and a yoghurt or something with avocado in, which I can't eat because I'm allergic to avocado. And he KNOWS those things - I mean, we've been going out for the past two years, and we were best friends for seven years before that. And he can't even be bothered to remember._

_Gah, don't mind me - I've probably just got PMT or something. Don't bother saying anything to him - it'll just bother him, and like I say, I'm probably just being moody. I'll get over it. _

_Hmm . . . George and Katie, Percy and Penelope . . . your Mum will be overjoyed - two weddings! AND you and Harry as well! She'll overload from wedding-ness. _

_Anyway, I have to go now. Coursework. Meh._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione xxx_

* * *

"Ginny!" Hermione said, looking up in surprise as her friend climbed out of her fireplace. "What are you doing here?"

"Three of the team have come down with this flu thing that's going 'round, so the rest of us have got the day off while the recuperate. I portkeyed to the Ministry this morning, and spent lunchtime at The Burrow with Mum. I'm just dropping by on my way to Harry and Ron's," Ginny replied, brushing soot off her cloak.

"Oh, right, I see," said Hermione. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'd love one, but I can't stop - I'm going to spend as much time with Harry as possible, seeing as he actually has this weekend off. Whilst I'm here, there were two things I wanted to say to you," Ginny said.

"Only two?" joked Hermione.

"You know what I mean," said Ginny. "The first one was that I got your letter, and Ron is being an arsehole, but what's new? Anyway, it's your birthday in ten days, and before you come out with any rubbish about having to work, or whatever: here is the plan. I am going to suggest, very strongly, to dear Ronald that he takes you out to the restaurant Harry and I went to, or something else very romantic like that, but you must pretend to know nothing about it, agreed?"

"OK," replied Hermione. "I was wondering what to do . . . I don't really want to go out to a club like we did last year. I liked it, but there was a proper crowd last year, whereas it would be a bit weird for just me and Harry and Ron to go this year . . . and they'd probably be working."

"Well, I'll make sure Ron isn't. He IS going to do something nice for you, for once - God knows you deserve it. Anyway, the other thing I was going to ask you is kind of a big favour, and not for me. Charlie needs a place to stay in this country for a while - he's working to set up a new dragon reserve in Wales. Do you think he'd be able to stay in your flat with you, seeing as you've got the spare room, and all?" Ginny asked.

"What's wrong with your flat? Or the Burrow? Or Shell Cottage?" Hermione asked.

"He doesn't want to stay at the Burrow 'cause Mum'll have forty fits when she sees some of the burns he acquires in a day's work; Fleur's sister is staying at the Shell Cottage at the same time as he would like to stay there; and I need some place to take Harry when I get random days - and nights - like this off," Ginny finished with a wink.

"Too much information, Ginny!" Hermione said, holding up her hand. "But . . . yeah, why not? I'm a bit lonely, with you gone, and Harry and Ron off on training exercises all the time. So, he can stay, if he wants. When would it be?" Hermione asked.

"From October to about mid-November," Ginny said. "Now, I really would love to stay and chat, but I've only got another four hours in the country, and I really want to see Harry properly before I go. Can I use your fire to floo?"

"Yeah, sure," said Hermione.

"Oh, and before I forget," Ginny said, pointing her wand at the coffee table where a package, neatly wrapped appeared. "Your birthday present! Don't open it until then!"

"I won't. Bye!" Hermione called, as Ginny stepped into the fireplace.

* * *

_14__th__ September_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Ginny wrote and told me that you offered me a place to stay whilst I was in the country, so I wanted to write and say thanks very much - I really appreciate it, and I'll try not to be too much of a pain. _

_My job starts on the 1__st__ October, so I'd really like to be settled in a couple of days before that - would it be possible for me to arrive on the 28__th__ of September? Also - can I negotiate paying you rent? I'd feel really bad, staying and not contributing anything._

_Thanks again,_

_Charlie Weasley_

* * *

_16__th__ September_

_Dear Charlie,_

_You're welcome - like I said to Ginny, it'll be nice to have some company. I normally get in from work at about 4.00pm, so if you want to arrive at mine anytime after that, that's fine. And don't worry about paying any rent - I've stayed at The Burrow so often without paying anything, I'd feel bad if I charged you._

_See you on the 28__th__._

_Hermione_

**Well, this is a new thing. I've never written a full-length fanfic before, so this'll be a learning experience for me ;) I'll try and update as soon as I can. Please drop me a review, and let me know what you think! ****Thank you x**


	2. Arrivals

**DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to JK Rowling. Duh. **

* * *

_24__th__ September_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Thank you so much for my birthday presents - the chocolate was divine, and the hat is amazing - I can wear it everyday, with all sorts of different outfits. It actually made the two Beauxbatons girls start talking to me. (You remember the two French girls I told you about? Well, they're actually really nice; they're called Isabelle and Coralie, and we got talking about the hat actually - Isabelle commented on how nice it was when I wore it the first time, and asked where I'd got it from, and I explained that it was a present, and that you could change to whatever you wanted, so we had a fun twenty minutes trying on "different" hats.) _

_Oh - and Ron is actually being lovely at the moment. He didn't say anything at all about going to the restaurant like you suggested, but he turned up on my doorstep at half-past six on my birthday, and told me that we had reservations. I'd had my suspicions (can't think why . . . wasn't anything you said, was it?!) though, so I had an outfit and everything planned, and I was able to do my make-up and hair magically, so that only took about five seconds. Anyway, we had a lovely meal - you're right, it is really nice there - and we came back to my flat afterwards, but Ron couldn't stay as he and Harry had a dawn training exercise the next morning. _

_I really don't have much time now, as I have a huge essay to write, but I just wanted to say thanks for the present, and that everything is MUCH better now, as I actually have people to talk to at the Ministry, and Ron is being nice and considerate again. _

_Hope you're well, and the training's going fine_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

_PS: I almost forgot! Ron asked me to the Fresher's Ball (held on 16__th__ October)!! Yay! I was wondering - are you likely to be free or have a weekend off any time before then so we can go dress shopping? I have no sense of style to be honest - and everyone said that my dress at the Yule Ball back in fourth year was really nice, and I haven't forgotten that it was you who picked it out for me. So, could you come and work your magic again? Thanks, H x _

* * *

Hermione had been having One of Those Days. She had tripped on the way down the stairs in her flat and laddered her tights (not that they couldn't be fixed magically, of course, but it was still embarrassing to fall over at twenty years old). Then she realised that she didn't need to be at the bottom of the stairs at all, as she could floo to the Ministry from the fireplace in her flat. Once she arrived there, she was approached by a high-ranking official from some department or another, and sent off on a long and convoluted errand to take a message to (of all people) Percy Weasley, whom she had walked in on as he was kissing Penelope. There followed a very embarrassed ten minutes, whereby he had stammered and stuttered his way through a completely nonsensical few sentences, finishing by begging her not to tell his mother, before revealing that he had already received her message.

She arrived at the Law Enforcement classrooms nearly half an hour late, and Professor Copweld (it would have to be him - the most evil man in the whole of the Ministry) had not been impressed, and demanded that she stayed behind for half an hour at the end of the day, as if she were a naughty schoolchild.

The morning's work was particularly gruelling, and Copweld kept picking on her to answer questions, probably hoping to catch her out and be able to punish her further. But Hermione, who had once again fallen into the pattern of being the best student in the class, due to reading about twenty books a day on the topics they were covering, was at least able to hold her own here, giving word-perfect answers to all of his questions. Even here, though, he was not happy - he informed her that it would be better if she put her answers into her own words, instead of regurgitating them from the textbook.

Then, at lunchtime, she had hoped to meet Ron and Harry to catch up with them, but by the time she had come down to the canteen, they had already eaten, and had to rush off to a special lecture, from the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shaklebolt, who was going to talk about his days as an Auror. Instead, she sat with Isabelle and Coralie, but spent most of the time helping Coralie to comfort Isabelle, who had received a letter from her boyfriend back in France that morning, stating that he wished to dump her. Poor Isabelle had been distraught, so lunch had hardly been a bundle of laughs.

After lunch, she had had a further two and a half hours with Professor Copweld, but this time he seemed to be picking on everyone - reducing Isabelle to tears again, and terrifying one of the Durmstrang students who fell asleep for a few moments.

At four, when the other students were let out, Hermione had to stay behind for half an hour - although she was able to take the opportunity to begin one of her essays. At nearly quarter to five, Professor Copweld finally dismissed her, with dire warnings about not being late again.

She apparated to just outside her flat, and nearly landed on top of Charlie Weasley. "Steady on," he said, grabbing her around the middle, so that she wouldn't fall over.

"Wha . . . why are you . . . oh, of course! Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting - I completely forgot! Mind you even if I'd remembered, Copweld wouldn't have let me off, he's worse than Snape was," Hermione realised she was babbling. "I'm sorry, I've just had one of those days, you know? I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?"

"Nah - I've been at Bill and Fleur's since around 11:00 this morning, and I've just popped back every five minutes or so since 4:00," Charlie replied. "I'd better get back and let them know that you're here now, and get my trunk and stuff."

"Oh, OK," said Hermione. "I'll come with you if you want, to help you carry your stuff?"

"No, it's OK, you stay here and I'll get Bill to help me," he said. "See you in a bit."

Hermione opened the door to her flat, and dragged her own bags, full of textbooks (naturally) inside. She magiced them into her bedroom and surveyed the flat. It was, of course, sparklingly clean and very neat and tidy. The only thing out of place was the remains of her breakfast - an empty bowl and a packet of cereal left on the table from that morning, but, with a few quick flicks of her wand, they were cleaned and back where they belonged.

She opened the door to the spare bedroom - now Charlie's room. It was very slightly smaller than hers, but the same in all other respects: it had a bed along the one wall, a small desk in front of the window, and a wardrobe and chest-of-drawers opposite the bed. Hearing two small pops, and a slightly larger thud, she left the room and went to open the front door of her flat.

Charlie stood outside, with his trunk and older brother, Bill. Both were taller than her 5'8'', but Charlie was slightly shorter and stockier than Bill. Bill had a striking resemblance to Percy and Ron in terms of his physique - all three of them were over six foot, and fairly wiry and thin. Charlie, meanwhile, looked to be about 5'11'', with broader shoulders than his brother, and, in that respect he was more like George was, and Fred had been.

Hermione invited both of them in, and, after the usual exchange of pleasantries, showed Charlie his room. "This really is very kind of you, Hermione," he said. "I really appreciate it. But you must let me at least pay you rent - I'd feel really bad if I didn't."

"No, really," insisted Hermione. "There's no need - and _I'd_ be the one feeling bad, as I'm always staying at The Burrow and not paying anything, so it wouldn't be fair or right for me to charge you."

"Yes, but that's different," began Charlie. "I'm not-"

A clock chimed very loudly in the hallway, cutting him off and making both him and Bill jump in shock.

"_Five o'clock_!" a slightly disembodied female voice shrieked. "_Five o'clock and time for dinner_! _But you have nothing in your cupboards and you can't cook_! _Five o'clock_!"

"What the hell," asked Bill "was _that_?"

Hermione groaned. "It's a long story. My parents wanted to get me something special for my coming-of-age, but they decided not to get a watch for some reason. They consulted your mother, who suggested they get a magical clock, and took them to Diagon Alley. There they found this . . . monstrosity, which is supposedly able to read the mind of the person standing closest to it when it chimes the hour, and it'll basically regurgitate what's in your mind. Fairly superficial though, can't reveal anything more than a few random thoughts - like the ones about me being unable to cook, and having no food in the house. Wouldn't give away your deepest, darkest secrets, or anything."

"But . . . it's so _piercing_!" said Charlie. "Can't you silence it? It's not that it's a bad clock," he continued hurriedly, worried that he had offended her. "It's just a bit . . . loud and shrieky."

"No - it _is_ a bad clock: sometimes I wonder if they got it from Knockturn Alley by mistake . . . but there's no way of silencing it. And I don't want to take it down, or curse it into oblivion, though I do feel like it sometimes, because I don't want to mortally offend your mother," Hermione replied.

"But how do you manage to sleep, with that thing yelling at you all night?" Bill asked.

"Silencing charm on the bedroom door," replied Hermione. "You can block it out that way, but you can't silence the actual clock."

"Don't take this the wrong way, or anything," said Charlie. "But the clock said you can't cook. I . . . can't you? Cook, I mean?"

"Nope," replied Hermione. "I can't seem to be able to make anything edible, either magically or using muggle methods."

"Well, I can, and rather well, if I do say so myself," said Charlie. "So, if you're so instant that I can't pay you any rent, at least let me cook meals for you?"

"Well . . . alright then," Hermione said. "If you're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," said Charlie. "Tell her how good a cook I am, Bill."

"Much as I am loathe to further enhance his ego," said his older brother, "I have to admit that he is right - the only better cook in the family in Mum - only don't tell Fleur I said that!"

The other two laughed. They chatted for a few more minutes, then Bill said that he had better be getting off home, and disappeared, and Hermione gave Charlie a brief tour of her small flat. It consisted of two bedrooms, a miniscule bathroom (which she had worked out a method of enlarging, but this only worked for an hour or so, so baths had to be quick), a main room that was the living room and dining room, and a small kitchenette.

They quickly established that the clock had not been lying when it said that there was nothing in the cupboards - there was a packet of cereal, some milk, one of Molly's chocolate cakes (half eaten) and a few bananas in a fruit bowl on the coffee table in the main room, and to be honest they were somewhat past their prime. Charlie offered to go shopping, just to get the necessities they would need for dinner tonight, and Hermione gratefully agreed, as she had three essays to write, but hoped to have the weekend free.

Charlie had returned when she had finished the first one, and she was busy writing the second whilst he cooked. Inviting smells were wafting from the kitchen, and she was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on her work, as her stomach kept growling in anticipation.

She became aware of a tapping at the window, and saw an owl hovering there, a letter attached to its wing. She opened the window and untied the letter, giving the owl a couple of treats before watching it fly off. She wasn't expecting any letters, and assumed it must be for Charlie, but the name on the envelope was hers, so she opened it. She recognised the writing as Ginny's.

* * *

_28__th__ September_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Hang on a moment - I'm just going to try and charm the quill to write for me: it'll be much quicker. Right. Hang on. Hello? Hello? My name is Ginny Weasley. Oh, yay! It's worked. Anyway._

_So, I got in from training at about 3:30 this afternoon, and I was thinking that maybe I'd reply to your letter, and maybe read a book or something, but when I entered the room I saw Harry sitting on my bed. _

_I was a bit worried at first, because he looked so serious, and I thought that something awful must've happened to you or Mum and Dad or someone, and he'd been sent to fetch me and I'd be spending my weekend at St. Mungo's or something. Anyway, so I said hello, and I was like "What's up?" because he looked so serious. And he just looked at me and said "sit down" which worried me._

_So I sat down on the bed, and he stood over me. "Ginny," he began, "I've got something to say to you." My first thought was "Oh, thank Merlin everyone's OK!" because, obviously, that's not the way one would begin if the next sentence was to be "Your brother is dying" or something. But then I thought, "Oh, Lordy - this is the break-up speech!", 'cause that's what blokes say when they want to break-up with you. (When girls say it, it's followed by the words "I'm pregnant" but obviously Harry isn't a girl, so that couldn't happen. _

_Harry must've seen something in my face, 'cause he said, "Oh don't worry . . . or maybe you should . . . " which was, of course, very reassuring. Anyway, he started looking at a point slightly to the left of my shoulder and said. "This afternoon, all the trainee Aurors were given a lecture by Kingsley - it was about the final battle and stuff . . . things that went on a couple of years ago, you know?" Which was basically Harry-speak for "It was about how much wonderful and heroic me and Hermione and Ron were when we fought Voldemort," but, of course he's far too modest to say that. So I just nodded, so that he'd know I was listening._

_"It made me think, because he was going on about how brave all the people who were killed were, and how the way we should honour their memories is by living our lives to the full. And there was a load of other stuff as well, but that was just Auror stuff, so never mind about that. Anyway, I kept thinking about what he said, about how we should live our lives to the full, and I don't think that we are."_

_Now, you may be forgiven at the moment for thinking that that doesn't make very much sense, because that was exactly what I was thinking at the time. I told him so, and he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. He's so cute when he does that!_

_"Yeah, I know," he said. "What I meant was, me and you . . . Merlin, I knew I shouldn't have come out here. I have to be back later anyway. Although, actually I don't because it's Friday night. Anyway. What I'm trying to say is, Ginevra Molly Weasley, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"_

_I didn't actually say anything for about five minutes, because I was too busy kissing him. But, just so you know, when I did, it was something along the lines of "YES!"_

_Anyway, I just HAD to tell you, because me and Harry are engaged! I'm so happy I can barely speak at the moment! Seriously! Me and Harry! Engaged! Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter are going to be married! _

_We're in a hotel in Paris at the moment, where we're staying all weekend: wink, wink, nudge, nudge and so on. But I just had to tell someone because I'm so happy I think I'm going to explode or something! _

_We're coming back for Sunday lunch at The Burrow, obviously, because, as you know, Mum routinely murders anyone who doesn't come to the one on the last Sunday of the month. Except Charlie, because he's always in Romania. But he's staying with you now, so even he won't have an excuse._

_PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't say anything to anyone. It's going to be our surprise at the weekend. And yes, you can see the ring then. It's beautiful: gold, with a red ruby - Gryffindor colours! _

_I'm so happy!!_

_See you on Sunday, _

_The soon-to-be Mrs. Ginny Potter xxx _

* * *

Hermione finished reading Ginny's letter, smiling hugely. It was about time Harry proposed to her - they were so much in love it was somewhat sickening at times, but she didn't begrudge her friends anything. Both of them had had a hard time in life - Harry especially - and they both deserved their happiness together. Now, the only problem would be keeping this a secret until Sunday . . .

She dashed off a quick letter of congratulation to the pair of them, with a note to Ginny that they'd talk on Sunday, then went to join Charlie in the main room. He had cooked spaghetti bolognaise, a dish that reminded Hermione of her childhood. "My Dad used to love spaghetti - it was his favourite meal," she commented, about halfway through the meal.

"Used to?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah, he died a few months ago," she said, tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, God!" replied Charlie. "What . . . what happened?"

"He and my Mum were driving home from a holiday. Their car crashed. I was informed by the muggle authorities that it was quick and painless," her voice was almost toneless.

"But not for you?" Charlie asked.

"No, not for me," Hermione sighed heavily. "It just seemed a bit unfair to me - I mean, they survived the war, and everything, and for them to be killed just like that, after coming back from Australia unscathed . . . it just seems a bit spiteful of God, or whoever's out there, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," said Charlie. "I mean, the whole thing with Fred. I didn't get there in time, you know? I'd been in Romania for the past few months. Last time I saw him was at Christmas. The twins - of all people - had been chastising me for making Mum cry because I was going back to Romania, and she was worried of course. We argued about it. I said some stuff . . . horrible stuff. We made up, but I wish . . . I wish things had gone differently, you know?"

"Yeah. I know. Life sucks sometimes," said Hermione.

They sat in silence for the rest of the meal, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, when they had finished eating, Hermione thanked Charlie for cooking a delicious meal, and pointed out that he might like to go to bed now, it being nearly midnight in Romania. As he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, he agreed.

Later, as she was writing her essay, she wondered why she had chosen to tell Charlie about her parents' deaths. It had been nearly a year ago now, but she still didn't like to talk about it. At all. Ever. The Weasleys all knew about what had happened, as she had spent some time living with them after the event, but none, apart from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny (and, once or twice, Ron) had ever brought the subject up, and, as it had happened so soon after Fred's death, she supposed that they, rightly, were too wrapped up in their own grief to notice hers.

But why had she told Charlie? She didn't want his pity, or even sympathy. She never spoke of the accident usually, so why had she told him today? She didn't even know him that well, if at all. Apart from the summer of her fourth year, when she had had a rather embarrassing schoolgirl crush on him, she never really thought about him. It was very odd, she mused, finally giving up on her third essay, and climbing into bed.

* * *

**Well, thank you VERY much to all the kind souls who reviewed my first chapter - your feedback was very much appreciated and I love each and every one of my reviews - it's very encouraging to an author! I hope you liked this chapter . . . any more reviews are very welcome :D x**


	3. Weekend

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own Harry Potter and co. Boo hoo etc **

* * *

Hermione groggily opened her eyes, and looked at the clock on her bedside table. 10.27am! She never overslept that much. She pulled on her dressing gown, and went into the kitchen. Charlie was sitting at the tiny table reading _The Daily Prophet_, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that was slightly too small. Hermione suddenly became very conscious of her own attire - an enormous pair of yellow pajamas, with Winnie-the-Pooh on the front.

Pajamas were never something she gave much thought to - on the few occasions she had spent the night with Ron, she had worn a purple silky thing that Ginny had helped her buy . . . not that Ron was usually paying too much attention to what she was wearing: he was usually more interested in trying to get her out of it.

But standing here, in her kitchen, she suddenly felt very self-conscious - of the fact that her hair was even more wild than usual due to not having been brushed, of the fact that her pajamas made her look positively elephantine, and of the fact that her dressing gown was covered in coffee stains from that time last week when she accidentally spilt coffee over herself when the clock made her jump. She was aware that she looked a bit of a mess . . . whereas Charlie, on the other hand, looked . . . well, to put it another way, she fully remembered why her 15 year old self had had such a big crush on him.

He looked up, seemingly unfazed by the state of either of their clothing. "Good morning," he smiled at her. "Hope you don't mind - I helped myself to the paper already - not that there's much in it today."

"No, no, that's fine," Hermione yawned. "Coffee, coffee. Where's the coffee?"

"Some in the pot already," said Charlie.

"You are a mind-reader," Hermione said, pouring herself a cup.

"Not really - I didn't take Divination. Waste of time, if you ask me," Charlie said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I completely agree - I dropped it mid-way through third year. Actually, I walked out in a strop, but never mind about that," Hermione agreed. Charlie chuckled.

"Now, I wish I could have seen _that_!" he said, and Hermione flushed slightly. "The one and only time you dissed a teacher, right?"

"Um, well, I was quite rude to her - Professor Trelawney, I mean - on a number of occasions. And then there was Professor Umbridge . . . " she trailed off.

"Yeah, but she doesn't count, does she? It's not like she was ever a proper teacher," Charlie said, rather scathingly. "Stupid Ministry - trying to poke it's nose in where it doesn't belong." He looked up. "Oh, sorry! I forgot you worked there - I didn't mean . . . well, it's not the entire Ministry, obviously - like at the moment we've got a perfectly good Minister for Magic, I just meant that sometimes with some things . . . I'm sorry, it-"

"It's fine," Hermione said, smiling. "I know what you mean - feel the same way myself, sometimes. Especially on a bad day, like yesterday."

"I'm sorry - I just have this foot-in-mouth disease thing sometimes," Charlie said. "It's a bit stupid. And embarrassing."

"Don't worry," said Hermione, smiling sweetly. "It's just because you're a man - you can't help it!"

"On behalf of the male gender, I must say that I rather resent that comment!" replied Charlie.

"Whatever," said Hermione. "Now, is there any food? I'm rather hungry."

"Yes, I was wondering when that was going to come up," said Charlie. "We have: the remains of that cereal, which frankly isn't enough for half of one serving; the chocolate cake, and two extremely overripe bananas."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Well . . . I suppose you don't mind having a banana and a piece of your mother's very delicious chocolate cake for breakfast do you? You could have the cereal too, if you wanted?"

"Hermione," Charlie said, somewhat seriously. "How can you run out of food? It's not normal."

Hermione burst into peals of laughter. "What?" asked Charlie, almost petulantly.

"I'm sorry, you sounded so much like Ron then," she replied, still laughing. Charlie joined in - it was true; that was a comment that the youngest Weasley boy would make. "I do have food, just not very much. I'm a student, I can't help it. I just keep some cereal for breakfast, I don't need anything for lunch, 'cause I eat at the Ministry usually, and for the dinner I usually just buy a muggle takeaway. I usually keep some fruit and a loaf of bread around as well, just in case I get a bit peck-ish. And your Mum is always giving me cake and stuff."

Charlie shook his head in resignation. "Well, that'll definitely have to change," he said, whilst summoning the chocolate cake and cutting two generous slices. "For one thing, no more takeaways. I'm only cooking proper food from now on. So one of us'll need to go out later and get some stuff."

"Yes, that reminds me - do you have any plans for the day?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I was going to go down to the new reserve - just to check things out, you know?" Hermione nodded. "Then there were a few people I wanted to look up, now that I'm back in the country and all."

"Well, I was going to stay in all day - I've got some essays to write and a mountain of books to read, so if you make a list of stuff we need, I'll go out and get it at some point during the day," Hermione said.

"There's no need for you to-" Charlie began, but Hermione cut him off.

"Don't worry - I'll look forward to it: it'll be a chance for me to get out of the house," she said. "My work is that exciting," she deadpanned, and Charlie laughed.

"Ah well, someone's got to take over as Minister for Magic when Kingsley retires," he commented.

"I don't know about that," Hermione ran her hands through her hair. "I've got to get through my first term as a Law student yet."

* * *

Charlie arrived back at the flat at around five o'clock, and found it deserted. There was a note pinned to the door of the tiny kitchen.

_Dear Charlie,_

_Have gone to Ron's. Will be back for dinner, though (I'll aim to get in at around half-six, if that fits in with your plans?). I bought everything that was on the list, though I couldn't get any ham. Hope that's not too vital. _

_I've never had that much food stuff to fit into the flat before, so I've had to invent some new storage. Everything is in the cupboard directly above the sink, but to get at it, you need to think of the thing that you want (pasta, for example) and tap it three times with your wand, then say _revealio. _At the moment, you can only get one thing out at a time, so I'll have to work on that, but hopefully it'll work for now._

_See you later,_

_Hermione_

Charlie tested out her cupboard storage technique, and was very impressed. He had known, of course, that Hermione was clever - she was the girl, after all, who had received 12 "Outstanding" N.E.W.T.s, but this was especially remarkable, as she had invented the spell herself, on the spur of the moment. Ron was lucky to have her. And not only for her brain - she was a very pretty girl. She wasn't beautiful, or stunning, but she was pretty - cute, he supposed, though she'd probably kill him if she ever heard him say that.

He cooked a casserole for dinner, and she arrived back just as it was finishing. She laid the table, and they sat down to eat. "Did you have a nice day?" she asked, looking at him across the table.

"Oh, you know - it was alright. I went to see George this morning - Ron was there too, so I caught up with them both," he replied. "Then I went to the reserve, and saw what was going on there. I meant to go and see Percy and Mum and Dad, and Bill again, but I ended up being there all day. What about you?"

"Spent the afternoon at Ron's," she said, in between mouthfuls. Charlie raised his eyebrows, with a smirk. "Don't be crude. It was nothing like that. He wanted me to help him write his sodding essay!"

Was it his imagination, or did she sound rather angry? "I mean, I wouldn't mind, but that's like the twelfth time he's done that! He just expects me to drop everything - all _my_ work when he wants to go out, but he never returns the favor. Sometimes, I think he's just going out with me to pick my brains! It really pisses me off - other guys can remember to be nice to their girlfriends instead of just using them as walking textbooks!"

That answered that question, then. "Well, um . . ." Charlie wasn't sure what to say. "Um . . . I guess he'll make it up to you sometime . . ." He was a bit embarrassed - Hermione was clearly upset, but he didn't exactly have much practice at dealing with irate women, bemoaning their boyfriends - especially when said boyfriend was his younger brother.

"Oh, please!" Hermione snapped. "He can't even ask me for a date properly - he took me out for a meal on my birthday but that was only because Ginny organized the whole sodding thing, and the last date we had before that was in June! I mean, Harry's always going abroad to see Ginny, and Neville's always going down to see Luna even though he's teaching at Hogwarts most of the time, and even Percy's sneaking off to go and see Penelope at work sometimes and Ron can't even organize a date by himself!"

"Um . . ." Charlie was a little scared. He had never seen Hermione like this before - she was always so in control about things, and she didn't seem the type for ranting. He couldn't agree with her, but he couldn't disagree with her (he knew from experience that whatever he said would be the wrong thing, because that was how women worked when they got angry like that). "I don't really . . ." He trailed off, a little helplessly.

"Oh, my God," said Hermione, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to rant at you! Oh, this is so embarrassing! Please, just forget everything I said - I forgot you were you, and I just talked like you were someone else, if that makes any sense?"

"Well, it didn't at all, but if you want me to forget, I will," Charlie replied, "On the condition that you tell me about Percy and this Penelope person."

"Percy and Penelope? What . . . oh, fudge!" she exclaimed. "Well, you're going to _have_ to forget about it, because it wasn't my secret to tell! No-one's supposed to know anything!"

"And do you normally go around telling everyone's secrets?" teased Charlie.

"No - God, no! I don't know what came over me - I didn't mean to say anything about them - it just slipped out!" Hermione was horrified.

"Hmm, so, _Percy_ managed to get himself a girlfriend," said Charlie. "I wonder what she's like?"

"Oh she's perfectly lovely - a really nice person. She's-" Hermione broke off, slapping her hand across her mouth. "Oh, God! I'm doing it again! You're having this effect on me!" She mock-glared at him from across the table.

"Well, yes, a lot of women do say that I have a strange effect on them," said Charlie, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, _God_!" said Hermione, half-laughing, half-horrified. "I really am screwing it up tonight! I didn't mean it that way!"

"What way?" asked Charlie, raising his eyebrows even further, and smirking when she blushed a deeper red.

"Oh, you're impossible!" she squealed. "Anyway, it's all your fault!"

"What's all my fault?" he asked.

"This! Everything! Making me tell everyone's secrets - I've caught your foot-in-mouth disease," she pulled a face at him.

"_You_ have foot in mouth disease?" he asked her. "Why, only this morning you were saying only males get that!"

"Damn you for remembering what I say," she joked.

"So, are you saying that you're a bloke?" he teased.

"I don't know," replied Hermione. "Are _you_ saying that I look like a bloke?"

He studied her body for a second too long, and she blushed. "I . . . um . . . no - you definitely look like a woman to me!" He swore under his breath - _why_ had he said that? They both blushed.

"If you wanted to know a bit more about Penelope," Hermione said, a few moments later, to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them, "she's coming to Sunday lunch at The Burrow tomorrow."

"Bringing her home, eh?" said Charlie. "It must be serious." Hermione chuckled. "That reminds me - I assume you're going, tomorrow?" he asked. She nodded. "Well, it would be a really big favor for me - actually, for both of us - if you didn't mention that I'm staying here? I mean it's not like Mum would ask you, but she'll probably ask me, and I'll just say I'm renting somewhere, just 'cause it'll make things easier."

"What things?" she asked, confused.

"Well, Mum is very old-fashioned, and I think she'd think that the idea of two people - that is, a man and a woman - living together, when they weren't engaged, or married, or whatever, rather inappropriate. She's just - well, you know, and I know, and everyone else who knows that I'm here knows that there's nothing dodgy at all going on with me staying here with you - and I'm very grateful to you for it, don't get me wrong - it means that I don't have to rent some skanky room somewhere - but I think that she'd think that it would be . . . well, just inappropriate really. So, if you want a quiet life, just don't say anything, yeah? It'll just be easier in the long run. But anyway, like I said before, I don't think that she'd ask you or anything," Charlie finished.

"Right . . . OK, then," said Hermione. She knew that Mrs. Weasley disliked the idea of co-habitation between couples who weren't married - and even frowned upon those who were engaged living together, and she didn't want to upset her, for the sake of a couple of months, so she agreed with Charlie not to mention it. "By the way . . . um . . . I hope you don't mind me mentioning it - I don't mean it in a rude way or anything, I was just wondering . . . Ginny said that you weren't going to stay at The Burrow, but she didn't say why . . . so I was wondering, why is that?"

Charlie sighed. "Well, I'm telling everyone that it's because I can get quite badly injured when I'm with the dragons - nothing that doesn't heal up very quickly, just burns and the like, but when it first happens it can look really horrific. And if Mum ever saw me like that . . . well, she'd have forty fits and forbid me from working as a dragon keeper ever again. But I'd end up going back, of course, and then she'd worry herself out of her mind," he said.

"And also?" Hermione prompted gently, as she stood by the sink, waving her wand and making the plates and pans that they had now finished with wash and dry themselves and fly back into the cupboards. "What's the other reason?"

"The other reason is that when I'm there, it . . . it reminds me of when I was a kid. And when Fred was alive and stuff. And I can cope with that for a weekend or whatever, if I'm just popping by for a visit, but I don't think I'd be able to manage with all that for a month and a half," he replied.

Hermione walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. Charlie wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and they stood together for a minute, lost in their own thoughts, each mourning their own loss. "You know," she began, looking up at him. He looked down at her, and they both suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were - they were almost nose to nose.

"Yes?" Charlie said softly, aware of the smell of her shampoo - slightly fruity, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Um . . ." she replied, blushing slightly. "I was just thinking that-"

They both jumped three foot in the air as Hermione's clock chimed loudly, and her head knocked into his chin, causing him to bite down on suddenly on his lip. He swore and put a hand to his mouth - blood was pouring from his lip.

"Oh, God! I am so sorry!" exclaimed Hermione. "Oh, blimey, what've I done now? Here -" she pressed a tea-towel onto his lip "have this and sit here, just there on that chair, and just hang on a minute - Dittany! _Accio_ Dittany! Good, right, here it is. Now, would you like me to fix this for you?"

Charlie had been listening to her babbling in amusement - she was quite sweet when she was trying to take control in a crisis. He nodded in answer to her question - he didn't like to open his mouth in case he got a mouthful of blood, but he wasn't in pain at all. However, he didn't have anyway of communicating this to her, and she was obviously a little stressed, thinking that she'd hurt him.

"OK then," she said, coming to stand right in front of him. She removed the tea-towel from his lip, and very gently placed her wand there. She murmured a few spells, then, again ever so gently, dabbed Essence of Dittany on his lip. Finally, she cleaned the blood off his face, enabling her to check her healing. Satisfied with what she saw, she summoned a mirror and held it up for him to see.

"There, good as new! You're a woman of many talents, I must say, Hermione," Charlie said with a smile.

"Yeah - a talent for hurting people!" she replied. "I am _so_ sorry; I really can't apologies enough . I-"

He cut across her. "Seriously! Don't worry about it. And don't insult me! I grew up with six siblings, and now I tame dragons for a living. You can't seriously think I haven't been injured much worse than this before?"

"I guess so," she replied.

"Yeah, no offense Hermione, but you have nothing on an angry dragon. Or, come to think of it, Bill, when he broke my arm that time," Charlie replied.

"Bill broke your arm?" Hermione inquired curiously. "How did he do that?"

"Don't laugh," Charlie began, "but when we were about six and eight, we decided that the best thing in the world would be for us to build a tree house. But first we had to find a tree to put the tree house in - I told you not to laugh! Anyway, we were in one of the trees, and there must've been a weak branch, or something, because he stood on it and started to fall, so he grabbed me, to try and regain his balance, but then I started to fall too, and we ended up falling all the way onto the ground, and he landed on top of my arm and broke it."

Hermione winced in sympathy. "'Course, Mum was able to fix it in a flash," he said. "And that wasn't the worst injury I ever had."

"What was then?" asked Hermione, and they spent the rest of the evening talking about their childhoods. Hermione considered hers, growing up as an only child in a muggle family, perfectly normal, and Charlie's - one of seven in a very, very magical household - the strange one, but of course, it was the other way around for him. Because of this, even the smallest tales of daily life became fascinating to the other person, and they kept talking until nearly midnight.

* * *

Charlie tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He didn't know why - he didn't feel unwell, the bed was perfectly comfortable, and the room was neither too hot nor too cold. He wasn't hungry or thirsty, and he there wasn't too much light coming into the room. He sighed and half sat up, turning his pillow over.

He couldn't stop thinking about Hermione. She had been so sweet and friendly tonight - laughing and joking with him, fixing his lip, even when she was ranting about Ron, she was still completely adorable. She had this really cute habit of brushing the ends of her hair out of her eyes, when it fell forward, and looking up at him at the same time.

It wasn't fair. Not only had he fallen for a girl who was taken, the girl's current boyfriend was his brother. So she was doubly unavailable. He punched his pillow in frustration. It wasn't like Ron was overly nice to her either, by the sounds of things.

Charlie didn't have a type - he had had a few girlfriends, but only three of them had been properly serious, and they were all completely different from each other. His first serious girlfriend had been Melissa, during his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. She had been a year below him, but a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so they had known each other fairly well before they got together. She had had long blonde hair, a cute smile, an interest in Quidditch and, best of all, she didn't really have much of an idea who Bill was, so he didn't have to compete with him in her mind.

They had broken up at the end of his seventh year, both realizing it would be impossible to maintain a relationship with her still at Hogwarts and him working in the real world. They had remained friends, and had written to each other a few times, but, due to his moving about all over the place, they had eventually lost touch.

His second long-term girlfriend, Annette, he had met during the second year of his training as a dragon tamer. She was only about five feet tall, and had short, spiky red hair and a very pretty face. He remembered thinking that she couldn't have weighed more than his broomstick, and wondered how long she would last. That was the last time he ever underestimated a woman. She had been the best in the class, and had a real connection to the dragons. They had dated for about a year and a half, until he discovered that she was seeing his best mate behind his back.

It had taken him a while to have another serious relationship - this time with a girl from the local village, near the reserve, named Lucy. The problem was, she was a muggle, and, eventually it had gotten too hard to pretend and lie about his job and his personal life, and he had left her. It took him a while to get over her - she had been the sweetest woman imaginable, but it was just too hard to have two lives, magical and muggle, and he had eventually decided that it wasn't a good idea to introduce her to the wizarding world, what with the very imminent war with Voldemort. After Harry had killed Voldemort, and the war was over, he went back to the village to try to find her, but she and her family had left town a year or so ago, and no one knew their new address.

Apart from the split with Annette, he had had relatively clean break-ups, and his heart hadn't been broken beyond repair even with her (thought it had taken many months to get over her). He knew though, that if he even went near Hermione, bad things would happen. Plus, it was kind of wrong to be lusting after someone seven years younger than he was.

Think of her as an extension of Ginny - act as if she's your sister, he told himself. And try and get some sleep.

* * *

Next morning, up until it was time to leave for The Burrow, he managed to stick to that plan. He got up late, breakfasted whilst Hermione was in the shower, and then she spent the rest of the morning in her room, drying her hair and getting ready, so it was easy to avoid her.

At half-past eleven, she came out, wearing a knee-length denim skirt, and a greeny-blue jumper, with her hair curled into large ringlets. "You look nice," he told her, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, Charlie," she replied. He kept trying to think of her as an extension of his sister, but he wasn't really managing it very well.

Hermione lit the fire, took a handful of floo powder and turned to smile at him. "See you in a few," she said, stepping into the grate and stating "The Burrow!". He followed three minutes after her.

Hermione, Bill, Fleur and his mother and father were already in the kitchen when he arrived; Fleur admiring Hermione's ringlets ("_très, très joli_ – zey suit you very well, 'ermione!"), Bill and his father deep in conversation about some Ministry thing or another ("But that's the thing – he just won't agree to sign!") and his mother with her back to him, pointing her wand at various vegetables in the sink. His father noticed him first, standing up to clap him on the back in greeting. "Charlie, son! Good to have you back in the country!" he said, but before he could reply, his mother was engulfing him in a suffocating hug.

"Oh, Charlie! Why didn't you say you were going to be back? I could have made a cake, or something! Are you back for long? How're the dragons? I hope you've been being very careful around them – I don't want anything happening to you! And what about your hair? Oh, it's in a terrible state – I must give it a cut! And-" Molly Weasley let out a storm of questions and comments about her son, before he was able to prize himself gently from her grasp.

"Mum, I'm fine," he replied. "I'm back for a month and a half or so – I've got some work in Wales, so I'm going to be sticking around for a bit – you can't get rid of me that easily."

"Wales?" his mother began. "What-" But she broke off as Percy and his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater climbed out of the fireplace.

"Good morning, everybody," Percy said, his pompousness coming across slightly because he was nervous. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Penelope, my girlfriend!" His voice rose slightly on the last word and Charlie had to work hard to keep a smirk from spreading across his face. Penelope – whom he had to admit, with her curly black hair and big blue eyes, was very cute: how had Percy managed to get himself a girlfriend as pretty as she was? – waved nervously.

Molly – her attention diverted from Charlie – smiled warmly at her, sensing her unease. "Hello dear, I'm Molly – Percy's mother," she said. "I must say, it's nice to finally meet you, as Percy's told us so much about you! Right, let me see . . . this is my husband, Arthur, and over here we have Bill and his wife Fleur, and this is Hermione Granger – very good friend of the family – and to your right over there, is Charlie, another of my sons." Everyone smiled and waved as they were introduced, calling hellos across the kitchen, and Penelope began to look a bit less nervous.

There was a thud, and Ron climbed out of the fireplace. "Hi Mum," he said. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing to Penelope.

Molly sighed. "This, Penelope, is my youngest and arguably rudest son, Ron," she said. "Ron, Penelope is Percy's girlfriend, and I do hope you're going to apologize to her for your complete lack of manners!"

Ron apologized, and the house soon became a hive of activity, with people rushing around all over the place, getting the dining room ready for lunch. Molly was in her element, instructing various people to do various things, and muttered her thanks to Hermione when she took the tablecloth into the dining room. In there, Bill and Charlie had stretched the table as they had been asked, and were now competing with each other to conjure up more and more ridiculous chairs (there were only eight, and twelve people were expected for lunch, so their mother had asked them to conjure up some more, but Hermione felt that thrones, beanbags, and what looked suspiciously like an electric chair were not quite what she had in mind).

She half-watched them in amusement, laying the tablecloth out neatly, and chatted briefly to Fleur, who was busy transfiguring some rather wilted tulips into a more spectacular flower arrangement. She was walking into the kitchen, when she turned, remembering a spell that would make things easier for Fleur and called it over her shoulder ("Zank you, 'ermione!") and so she wasn't looking where she was going, and crashed into Ron, who was carrying a big jug of pumpkin juice.

The glass shattered against her head, spilling the juice down her hair, face and top. Ron burst out laughing, and Hermione, outraged that this was his first reaction, shot a jelly-legs jinx at him. He crashed to the ground, and soon stopped laughing. "How dare you laugh at me, Ronald Weasley!" she shrieked. "I'm covered in pumpkin juice!"

"I know, I know," he replied. "I'm sorry, OK? It was an accident! I didn't mean to spill it on you; you didn't have to curse me!"

"For your information, Ronald," said a voice behind them. "The jelly-legs JINX is a jinx, not a curse. And I'd think that an Auror like yourself - even a trainee - would have a pretty nifty shield jinx by now." Ginny came into view. "Furthermore, she didn't jinx you because you spilt juice on her."

"She didn't?" Ron asked, mystified. "Well, why the bloody hell did she, then? Is it about yesterday? 'Cause you said you didn't mind helping me with my essay!" Ginny rolled her eyes, and sighed.

"Come on, Hermione," she took her friend's hand, and pulled her in the direction of the stairs. "I've got a top you can borrow - and you'll need to fix your mascara - it's run a bit." The pair of them disappeared off upstairs.

"A tip, mate," said Charlie, as Bill lifted the jinx and hauled his brother to his feet. "Don't ask a girl on a hot date to come and do your work for you. They don't really appreciate it."

"What the hell would you know about it? It's not like you have a girlfriend," Ron snapped back rudely.

"Yeah, well, I know enough not to upset the one I do have by throwing pumpkin juice all over her the day after I piss her off by making her come round to do my work for me," his brother replied, aggressively.

"You don't know the first thing about Hermione, so don't you dare come swanning back from bleeding Romania or wherever to tell me how to run my life!" snarled Ron. Charlie opened his mouth to retaliate, then stalked off upstairs too.

"Well done, Ron," Bill said sarcastically. "That's three people you've managed to piss off in the space of about three minutes, and it'll very soon be four if Mum sees the state of this floor."

"Oh, shut up," Ron replied, pointing his wand at the floor and sweeping all of the broken glass into a pile. "_Reparo_!" he muttered, and the glass pieces held themselves precariously into the shape of a jug. "Anyway, if I didn't upset Hermione by tipping juice all down her, then how did I upset her?"

Bill looked at him in amazement, but Fleur just looked pityingly at him. "Come on, Beel," she said, taking him by the arm and ignoring Ron. "Let's go to see if your muzzer needs any 'elp with ze lunch."

They walked off, and Ron was left staring at the jug, which gave a precarious wobble then collapsed again. He sighed. It just was not his day.

* * *

Upstairs, Hermione had stripped off her soaked jumper, cleaned and dried her hair and face and repaired her mascara (the only make-up she had bothered with) and was lying on Ginny's bed, wearing just her bra and skirt. "I just don't believe him," Ginny said, rifling through her wardrobe. "I mean, he's such a jerk, to laugh at you like that!"

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Yeah . . . he doesn't understand that I'm mad at him for laughing, not for spilling the stuff on me. And yesterday, he turned up in my fireplace and was like 'oh, Harry's not here . . . I want you to come over!', which I did, 'cause it sounded like a date, right?" Ginny nodded. "Well, I went over, and spent most of my time writing his coursework essay for him!"

Ginny shook her head. "He does not deserve you at all. He can be such a pillock sometimes," she said. Hermione laughed, and caught sight of the ring glinting on her friend's finger.

"Oh my God, I completely forgot!" she squealed. "How-" she began, but Ginny silenced her with a finger.

"Not a word until I've told everyone!" she said, putting a finger to her lips. Hermione pretended to sulk. They chatted about other things, and Ginny found her a top. "How about this?" she asked, holding up a cream coloured blouse.

"It's really nice," said Hermione. "I don't really mind though - I'll wear whatever."

"Have this, then," Ginny said, throwing it over so that it landed next to Hermione on the bed.

She stood up, as there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" she called, without thinking. Charlie entered.

"Mum says to tell you to not to worry about Ron, and that it's dinner in five . . ." his voice trailed off, staring at Hermione's body in just her bra.

"Five what? Five bananas?" teased Hermione, before realizing what he was staring at and blushing furiously. Charlie turned a deep red, muttered his apologies and rushed out.

"Oh God oh God oh God!" said Hermione, mortified. "I can't believe Charlie saw me in just my underwear! Oh my God! How embarrassing! Oh, I can't believe this!" She pulled on the blouse, but was too flustered to do it up properly, and Ginny had to point out that the buttons were not in the right button holes.

"Oh, God!" said Hermione, wringing her hands.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, girl!" said Ginny, waving her wand at Hermione so that all her buttons were done up correctly. "Pull yourself together! I'm sure he's seen girls in more of a state of undress than that - the only thing you were missing was a top, after all - and you look fine. And anyway, it's only Charlie," she rolled her eyes.

"Only Charlie! Only Charlie! I have to live with him, you know!" Hermione squealed in reply.

"Oh, whatever," said Ginny. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. And anyway, with you living together just be grateful that he didn't come across you in the shower or whatever."

"GINNY!" said Hermione, appalled.

"Oh, shush. It'll be fine. Now come and have lunch - I'm starving!"

* * *

As Hermione entered the dining room, she bumped into Charlie, and, to her intense embarrassment, ended up doing a little dance with him when they both tried to go right, then left, then right. "I'm sorry," she muttered, taking a big step to the left to get past him.

"Not a problem," he replied. "And I'm sorry about earlier - you know, upstairs when I-"

She cut across him. "Oh, don't worry about it - just forget it," she said, and went to sit down. She ended up sitting next to Penelope on her right and Ginny on her left, with Bill opposite her. She conversed with all three of them during the meal, taking particular care not to talk to Charlie or Ron, but for different reasons. Though she had reassured Charlie, she was still embarrassed - she suspected that Ginny would have coped with the situation better than she had, having grown up with six brothers. Hermione had had no siblings, and, when she had gone to Hogwarts, she had shared a dormitory with two other girls, so nothing like that had ever happened to her before. But then, she reasoned to herself, she was very likely to blow this out of all proportions - Charlie would most likely have forgotten it by this time tomorrow -so really, she'd be best off taking Ginny's advice and forgetting about it herself. She was only minus a top, for Merlin's sake.

Ron, however, she was ignoring for a completely different reason - and he responded by sulking. How unusual.

They had just finished the main course, and Molly was just about to go and see to dessert, when Harry stood up. "Um . . . hi everyone," he said, rather nervously. "I . . . um . . . I have an announcement to make. Er . . . Ginny and I are going to . . . that is, me and Ginny are . . . oh, what I'm trying to say is, Ginny and I are engaged!"

There was total silence around the table.

* * *

**Dun dun dun! Sorry, couldn't resist the (sort of) cliffie! :P SO SORRY about the wait - I was a bit ill and didn't really feel much like sitting at a computer, sorry. But I'm all better now, and here's an extra long chapter to make up for it :) **

**Thank you very much to all my lovely reviewers - your comments were really appreciated and I love each and every one of them! :D Reviews are the only payment fanfic writers get . . .**

**Dunno when I'll get the chance to update next, but I'll try not to make you wait as long, this time :S**

**Review! x**


	4. Concussion

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, just like writing about 'em :P**

* * *

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Are you pregnant?" Molly Weasley's voice thundered down the table.

"Of course not, Mum! Why would you say that?" Ginny asked, angrily.

"Because you're both far too young to be getting married for any other reason other than covering up a pregnancy! You had better not be, because if you're trying to pass this baby off as a honeymoon baby, born a little early, it won't work, you know!" her mother retaliated. "No one ever believes those stories, anyway."

"Mum, we're getting married because we love each other!" Ginny cried. "Not to cover up for a baby – do you think I'd want to get pregnant now, when I've only just signed a contract with the Harpies? How could you think such a thing?"

Molly sniffed, and everyone else stared embarrassedly at their empty plates. Hermione suspected that thinking about their younger sister's womb was rather too much for the six Weasley brothers, and very possibly Arthur Weasley too – especially on a full stomach – as they all looked as though they wished they were somewhere – anywhere – else.

"Mrs Weasley, I can assure you Ginny is not pregnant," Harry said, in what was meant to be a soothing tone, but didn't quite work, due to the fact that his voice rose several octaves at the end of his sentence, when all the Weasley boys and Arthur looked somewhat menacingly at him. He had not expected this reaction at all – Ginny had assured him that Molly had been looking forward to welcoming him officially into the family for years, and would probably want him to change his name, instead of Ginny, and become Harry Weasley (rather than she end up Ginny Potter).

"Well, there's one simple way to find out if she is, or not," Molly said, in a tight voice, standing up. "And I warn you know – if you've lied about this to me . . ." She let her threat hang in the air, waved her wand and muttered something. A jet of blue light shot out of the end of her wand and rose up into the air above the table. Everyone watched it in silence. It hovered above them for a minute or two, before shooting downwards rapidly in a streak of light. It shot through Penelope, who gave a small gasp, Hermione, who did the same, and Ginny, who glared angrily at her mother, before finally coming to rest as a kind of aura around Fleur. The other Weasleys, Penelope and Hermione all found very interesting places quite close to them (the ceiling, a dinner fork, the bowl containing a couple of potatoes that no one seemed to want, for instance) that they had not appeared to notice before, and studied them intently, whilst Ginny, Harry, Bill and Fleur looked at Molly.

"I told you so," said Ginny, smugly, as Molly sat down rather heavily in a chair.

"But . . . but this means that I'm . . . I'm going to be a grandmother!" she said, sounding shocked.

"Indeed," said Bill. "We only found out a couple of days ago – Fleur's only three weeks pregnant . . . we were going to try and tell you in a slightly better way than this though," he grimaced and waved his hand at the blue mist surrounding Fleur.

Molly flicked her wand, and it disappeared. No one said anything for a moment, then George cried, "Well, I think this calls for a _double_ celebration! Congratulations, Harry and Ginny – and congratulations Bill and Fleur!" After that, the silence was broken, and for a few minutes the dining room was awash with people congratulating each other, kissing Ginny and Fleur on the cheek, and slapping Harry and Bill on the back. Arthur dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, and summoned a bottle of champagne from somewhere ("Although, Fleur dear, you'll have to make do with extra pumpkin juice, I'm afraid – and I must tell you, I simply can't wait to become a granddad!"). The general racket died down, and everyone was left staring at Molly. She was still looking glazed.

"Bill . . . Fleur . . ." she said, looking vaguely in their direction. "Congratulations . . . I'm sorry it had to be announced this way." She looked over at Harry and Ginny, who had their arms around each other's waists. "You two," she continued. "I'm sorry for messing things up . . . I just thought . . . and I should've trusted you, it just . . . oh, congratulations anyway!" She burst into tears, though they were of joy, and Ginny was by her side instantly, hugging her mother, and crying also.

Arthur was still dabbing at his eyes, and George awkwardly patted his father on the back, his eyes shining suspiciously as he did so. Percy and Penelope were smiling benevolently at each other, Penelope murmuring something in her boyfriend's ear, as he absent-mindedly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. A few tears were making their way down Fleur's face, though she was smiling at the same time, and Bill lovingly kissed them away.

Hermione felt her own eyes welling up, and sniffed a few times, only to find Charlie standing next to her. "Don't start, Granger," he warned her. "Else I'll end up in floods!" Hermione laughed, causing a couple of tears to fall from her eyes. Charlie squeezed her shoulder, and noticed Ron glaring at him. He dropped his hand quickly and walked away, to talk to Bill.

A smell of burning wafted into the room. "My crumble!" cried Molly, and rushed off, wiping her tears from her cheeks.

* * *

"My God," said Hermione, back in Ginny's old room, after they had all finished eating. "I thought she was never going to come round!"

"Me either," said Ginny, sifting through her wardrobe and pulling out the odd top of pair of jeans. "She seemed more against our engagement than she was against Bill and Fleur's – and that's saying something!"

"I know," agreed Hermione. "I think she was ready to castrate Harry!"

"And that _would_ be a pity," said Ginny, and the pair of them giggled. "Nah – she came round to it once she established that I wasn't pregnant, and that we weren't planning on having the wedding until the spring time, so there's no point in us claiming a honeymoon baby. And I think that was rich of her – Bill was supposedly born at eight and a half moths after her wedding, he was premature," she said, making finger quotes around the word premature. "Now, if _that's_ not pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is!" But there was no malice in her voice, just a teasing lilt, as she held up various tops, and discarded some, tossing them on the bed. "Honestly, listen to her," Ginny rolled her eyes.

From downstairs, they could hear the sound of Molly gabbling instructions to Fleur, who was getting ready to leave with Bill. "Now remember, apparating whilst pregnant – especially in the second and third trimesters – is very dangerous; there's a very strong risk of splinching the baby, so you must always use the floo network dear. And keep a good supply of ginger biscuits in the house at all times – ginger is very good at curing morning sickness. Oh, and you mustn't forget to -"

"She's just happy to be a grandma," said Hermione. "And she's also really relieved that Harry is finally joining your family . . . no matter what she said earlier."

"You think?" Ginny asked.

"I _know_," Hermione said firmly. They chatted for a little while longer, then Hermione said that she had to be going, said her goodbyes to her friend and promised to write soon. She went downstairs and said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley, and apparated back to her own flat. Charlie was already there, sitting on the sofa and reading the _Sunday Prophet_. He looked up when she came in. "Interesting lunch, huh?" he said, smiling up at her.

"Just a bit," Hermione said, returning his smile. "Did you know about Bill and Fleur?"

"Nah – but it's not a shock is it? They've been married for over a year, and I knew they wanted kids, just not during the war, 'cause of the dangers and all," Charlie replied. "What about you? Did you know about Harry and Ginny?"

Hermione grinned, somewhat sheepishly. "Yeah – Ginny was really excited and happy about it, so she wrote and told me on Friday, just after he proposed to her. But she made me swear not to tell anyone, so I didn't," she said.

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but there was a loud crack outside the door, followed by a knock. "Hermione? It's me, Ron," a voice called. "Can I come in?"

"Um . . . just a minute!" she called back, gesturing to Charlie to go into his room. Waving her wand, she flicked the radio on ("Welcome to the Sunday afternoon chill out, with me, your host Lee Jordan!") to drown out the sound of their voices. "I can't be bothered to explain this whole situation to Ron now, and if you want to keep your Mum from knowing, you'd be best off keeping Ron from knowing. Just get into your bedroom, and don't make too much of a noise," she hissed at Charlie, waiting until he'd closed his door before opening the front door.

Ron came in, and sat down on the sofa, just where Charlie had been sitting moments before. Hermione sat on a chair opposite him, and registered his slight disappointment that she didn't come to sit next to him. "I . . . er . . . wanted to apologise for earlier," he began. "For spilling pumpkin juice all over you, I mean," he added.

"Ron," Hermione sighed. "I'm not mad at you for that. It was my fault – I wasn't looking where I was going, I wasn't concentrating, and that's got nothing to do with you."

"It hasn't?" Ron asked. "Then why did you yell at me and curse me like you did?"

"Oh, Ron," she sighed again. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm not mad at you for that – even if I had been looking where I was going, and you'd still bumped into me, it would've been an accident, I know that. You didn't deliberately set out to smash that jug against my head. It's not that. It's the fact that you laughed at me. Your first reaction wasn't to ask if I was OK, or even to clean the stuff off me – it was to laugh. You don't care about me."

"I do," he protested weakly, but Hermione wasn't finished yet.

"You don't care about me, Ron. If you did, you'd have asked me if I was alright when you dropped that on my head; you wouldn't have asked me over to write your essay for you and still expect me to drop everything when you wanted to go out; you'd remember which foods I can't eat because I don't like them, or I'm allergic, or whatever; you'd take me out just because, instead of needing a reason like a birthday or something . . . don't you see, Ron? You say you care . . . but it doesn't feel like it to me," she said.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I _do_ care about you. I'm not-"

"Please just go, Ron. I have a splitting headache and I want to lie down," she said, standing up. He stood up, too.

"I really am sorry, Hermione. Truly. Are . . . are we OK?" he asked. Were they OK? Hermione didn't know. She assumed so. Sometimes, going out with Ron felt like an obligation. A favour for someone . . . something she was doing because it was expected of her. She loved him . . . didn't she? Had she even loved him in the first place? She had . . . hadn't she? She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't want to break-up – it would be too much hassle, and full of yet more heartbreak. And yet, sometimes she felt as if her heart would break in a different way, if she stayed with him – it would come under more and more and more pressure, until one day it just gave up and exploded everywhere.

But she couldn't tell him that. At least, not now. So she just gave a smile – a very weak one, but still genuine – and said that she wasn't going to break-up with him, if that's what he was worried about. He looked relieved, and walked out of the door to apparate back to his flat. Hermione sat back down with a groan, resting her head in her hands.

"Well, that went well," a dry voice said, from behind her. She turned, and saw Charlie standing there. "If you don't want to be with him, you've got to tell him that, instead of just resigning yourself to going out with him again."

"Who says I don't want to go out with him?" Hermione snapped. She knew Charlie was right, but she disliked being told what to do in her personal life.

"No one says that you don't want to be with him, Hermione, but, no offence, it's written all over your face at times like this, and last night. You don't have to be a Seer to know that," he replied, gently.

Hermione opened her mouth to snap another reply, but took a deep breath, and reminded herself that she wasn't mad at Charlie, and it would be wrong to take her anger out on him. "Please, just leave it alone, Charlie. I've got a splitting headache, and I want to go to have a lie down," she said, instead, walking past him into her own room, and kicking off her shoes. She pushed the door too, and fell down onto her bed with a sigh of relief.

Men. Who could live with them? But then, who could live without them, either? She winced. Her head hurt too much to be pondering questions like that at the moment. She closed her eyes, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

At half past eight that night, Charlie knocked on the door of Hermione's room, carrying a glass of water and a couple of pieces of toast. There was no response, so he looked round the door and saw that she was asleep. He would have left, but he noticed that her window was wide open, blowing cold air onto her face, so he crept across the room to close it for her, placing the plate of toast and glass of water on her beside table.

"Charlie?" she croaked, opening her eyes.

"Hey, Hermione," he said. "I was just going to close your window for you." She groaned. "You OK?" he asked.

"My head hurts," she said slowly, sitting up, and gasping slightly. "And is it normal for the room to be spinning?"

"That'll pass in a moment," he said, confidently, trying to sound as though he knew what was the matter with her, figuring that that would be more comforting than, "No, it's probably not normal". "Just stay still," he added.

"'K," she mumbled. He came and stood in front of her, lighting the lamp as he did so.

"I'm just going to have a look at your head," he said, very gently lifting her hair away from her forehead. He winced when he saw the gigantic lump on it, brushing his fingers gently across it, and feeling her flinch, even though he had touched it very lightly. "Hmm . . ." he said, drawing back. "I think you might have a slight concussion, from where that jug hit you today. It was a pretty big jug."

"Yeah," she said, and mumbled something incoherent.

"I think we need to get this sorted out," he said, thinking quickly. He didn't want to risk trying to heal her himself – from working with dragons, he had become very good at healing burns, and was fairly competent at minor cuts, too, but they had trained Healers who worked on anything else, and he'd never tried healing a concussion before. He didn't want to practise on Hermione. He didn't much fancy taking her to St. Mungo's – she was obviously in a lot of pain, probably more than she was willing to let on, and there would be a long wait and a lot of paperwork there. His mother's was another option, but it would be awkward to explain why he was there . . . Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Come on, Hermione," he said, as she had fallen into a half-sleep – either due to her tiredness or because of the bump on her head he was not sure. "We're going to go to Bill and Fleur's. She's good at fixing stuff like that – and if she can't, then I guess we'll have to go to St. Mungo's, OK?"

She didn't respond, worrying Charlie further. Quickly, he summoned his thickest jacket (and tried to pretend to himself that he had only noticed the flimsiness of Ginny's blouse because he was worried about her being cold) and wrapped it around her, and picked her up, ever so gently. He turned on the spot, but nothing happened. "Anti-apparition wards," she muttered to him. "Go outside the flat." He carried her out of the flat like she said; _alohamora_'d the door and turned on the spot.

He landed just outside Bill and Fleur's garden. It was raining, and Hermione shivered, still not fully aware of what was going on. He hugged her tighter to his body and carried her over the lawn. It was dusky – not dark yet, but close and the lights were on in Shell Cottage, casting a warm orangey glow over the garden. The house looked warm and inviting and homely, and for a moment he was jealous of his brother for having that, when he, Charlie, had the flat of his little brother's girlfriend because she was nice and thoughtful like that, and a cramped apartment in Romania that he shared with three other Dragon Tamers. Neither of those places felt like he truly _belonged_ there.

He trudged along the path, and knocked on the door. "Who's there?" asked Bill's voice.

"It's me, Charlie," he replied. "I've brought Hermione round; I think she has a concussion from when Ron whacked her with that jug earlier, and I was wondering if Fleur could take a look at her?" The door opened when he was half-way through the last sentence, and Bill stood there, looking concerned.

"Come on in – Fleur's in the living room," he said, and Charlie carried Hermione inside.

"I was wondering if you could take a look at her - it's only a concussion, but I've never had to heal one before, and I know you did a lot of stuff like that during the war . . . do you think I should take her to St. Mungo's?" Charlie addressed Fleur.

"Let me take a look at 'er," Fleur said, indicating that he should place Hermione down on the settee. "'Allo, 'ermione," she said. "Eet ees Fleur 'ere. I'd just like to 'ave a leetle look at your forehead." She knelt down to look, peeling Hermione's rain-soaked hair away from her head. "Hmm," she said.

"What is it?" Charlie asked. "She will be OK, won't she? Should I take her to St. Mungo's?"

"Eet ees just a concussion. Eet ees a bad one, but I can deal wiz it. I will just need to make up a quick potion in ze kitchen, and administer eet to 'er, and she should be OK," Fleur replied, leaving for the kitchen.

Hermione, semi-conscious, murmured something. "Charlie, come upstairs with me a minute," said Bill. "I have a couple of shirts of yours, and now's a good a time as any to return them." Charlie didn't remember lending Bill any shirts, but followed him upstairs into the main bedroom anyway. Bill closed the door.

"Charlie," he said, looking serious. "Don't even think about it."

His brother was confused. "Think about what?" he asked. Now he was sure that Bill hadn't any clothes to return to him, that he just wanted to get him on his own for some reason.

"Her. Hermione. She's not available. She has a boyfriend. Her boyfriend is your brother. You can't have her," Bill replied.

"I don't . . . want her," Charlie said, cursing his brother for being able to read him like a book.

"You do, Charlie," Bill said. "It's written all over you. The looks you were giving her downstairs . . . I appreciate that you're concerned about her concussion - so am I, she's like another sister to me - but you've got to remember you can't love her in that way. Think of her as another sister."

"Shut up, Bill. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Charlie snapped angrily at his brother. His plan had not worked - as well as being attracted to her, he now loved her more because he was worried about her. Did Bill think he was stupid? He _knew_ he couldn't have her. He could think of a hundred reasons why it was not a good idea for them to get together. (He could think of two hundred reasons why they should, though.) He had been through this many times throughout the day, today, and he did not appreciate Bill trying to lecture him - especially not with his own "think of her as a sister" argument (somewhere in the logical part of his brain, he knew that Bill couldn't know that he'd already told himself that a hundred times already, but he chose to ignore that part of his mind).

"She's nearly seven years younger than you, Char," Bill said, gently.

"I know that," he replied. "And I'm not interested in her." Bill merely raised his eyebrows. "I don't love her. It's just . . . just an infatuation. Probably just physical. I'll get over it in a week or so." He felt disgusted with himself for lying, and also like he was betraying her somehow, although he wasn't quite sure why. Bill looked like he didn't believe a word of what Charlie was saying, and Charlie didn't blame him. The argument could have gone on for longer, but they were interrupted by Fleur calling them back downstairs.

"I 'ave given 'er ze potion to fix 'er concussion, and 'elp 'er to sleep much better. 'Owever, ze potion does 'ave ze side-effect of making 'er sleep for a very long time - she won't wake up until about midday tomorrow, so she won't be able to go into work tomorrow. But, once she wakes up, she will be fine," she said. Charlie was relieved.

"Thanks, Fleur," he said.

"Eet was nothing," she replied, and yawned hugely. "I am sorry – I am going to go to bed – I am so exhausted!"

"It'll be because you're pregnant," said Bill. "You go on up – I'll shut up down here, and see Charlie out and everything." Fleur looked as though she might argue, but yawned again, and Bill pointed at the stairs and said "Go!" She went, reminding Charlie as she went up the stairs that Hermione would be in a deep sleep for quite a while, and asking him to send her a note when Hermione woke up, to let her know that she was OK.

Charlie picked Hermione up gently, wrapping his jacket around her again. "Remember what I said, Charlie," his brother said, seriously. "You can't have her."

Charlie looked him in the eye and replied, "I will." It wasn't the remembering that he would have trouble with. It was putting into practise forgetting about her that would be the issue . . . He sighed. "Thank Fleur for me – and Hermione – when she's . . . you know . . . a bit more with it."

"I will," said Bill, walking him to the door. "See ya."

"Bye," replied Charlie, walking as quickly as he could across the lawn, to the edge of the magical protection that surrounded Shell Cottage. From there he was able to apparate back to the outside of Hermione's flat – and not a moment too soon: the rain was coming down thick and fast. He unlocked the door, and gently laid Hermione down on the sofa.

She didn't stir. He summoned a towel from the bathroom, and wiped the wetness off her head. Realising that he could dry her – and himself – much more quickly and efficiently using magic, he did so, waving his wand over both of them. He made up a hot water bottle, and placed it in her bed.

Then, taking great care not to look (at least too much) at her, he removed all of her clothes except her bra and underpants by magic, and quickly replaced them with a pair of pyjama bottoms he could see lying around in her room, and an old, thick Quidditch top of his (on her, it was rather big, but he figured it would keep her warm) that had "C. Weasley" and a Gryffindor lion on the back.

He stripped back the covers of her bed, and, very carefully, carried her into her room, placing her gently on the bed, and tucking her in.

Then, tenderly and lightly, he kissed her on the forehead, telling himself that it was what he would do to Ginny, if she was in the same position. Later, he didn't doubt this – he would have kissed his sister goodnight; indeed, he had done, many times, over the years. But he knew that he wouldn't feel the same way inside, when he did it, due to the fact that he wasn't harbouring any incestuous feelings towards his sister. He loved her, certainly, but for the feeling of Ginny's cheek against his as he drew away to elicit the same feelings he had experienced when the same thing happened with Hermione . . . well, that would just be plain _wrong_.

* * *

Hermione woke up slowly, feeling relaxed and also like she had been asleep for a very long time – weeks, at least, and very possibly months. After ten minutes or so, she opened her eyes, and looked at her beside clock, which informed her it was 12:37. "In the daytime or at night?" she wondered aloud, and got out of bed to open her curtains. It was not sunny outside – the sky was full of thick, grey clouds, and it was raining – but it was definitely daytime.

"Wonder what day it is?" she said to herself.

"Monday, dear," her mirror replied, and she jumped, startled. Even though she had lived in the magical world for nearly half her life now, she still had not become used to random, supposedly inanimate objects talking back to her.

"Er . . . thanks," she muttered in reply. So, she hadn't slept for that long: it was only Monday still. So why wasn't she in work? The thought shot across her mind in a flash of panic, and she half-ran into the kitchen. She was incredibly thirsty, so she figured she'd just have time to grab a glass or two of water, change into her clothes magically, and be there in time for the afternoon session. Her stomach growled, but she'd just have to wait until 4:00pm before she could eat - it served her right for oversleeping that much! Why, oh _why_ hadn't Charlie woken her?

In the kitchen, her attention was drawn to a piece of paper, stuck to the kitchen cupboard with spellotape. It kept flashing different colours, and the words "Hermione! Read this!" were written in big, bold letters across it. When she peeled it off the cupboard door, it stopped flashing and the letters shrunk themselves and multiplied rapidly, until she was left with a short letter, in Charlie's handwriting.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I don't know how much you remember of yesterday, but it turns out that when Ron walloped you one with that jug, you got a pretty big concussion. You were kind of semi-conscious at half-eight ish last night, so I took you over to Bill and Fleur's. I've never had to heal a concussion, and I kind of figured that you wouldn't want me practising on you, but I knew Fleur had, during the war and all, so I took you there first (and she was able to heal you without having to go to St. Mungo's). _

_She gave you a potion to fix up your concussion, but it also made you sleep for quite a while (she said you'd probably wake up at about midday). ON NO ACCOUNT ARE YOU TO LEAVE FOR WORK!!__ You need to stay at home and relax. I have written to the Ministry and said that you wouldn't be in today, so there's no need to worry. But don't even think about going in, OK? If you need some persuading on this matter, take a look at the bruise on your forehead._

_I should be back around 5:00pm to cook you a lovely dinner. See you then._

_Charlie_

_PS Fleur asked me to ask you to write her a note when you wake up, just to let her know you're OK._

* * *

_Dear Fleur,_

_Thanks for helping me out last night – I don't really remember much, but Charlie tells me that you sorted me out when I had a concussion, so thanks for that. I've just woken up, and I feel fine (at least until I saw the big bruise on my forehead . . . but a bit of potion will soon sort that out)! Charlie asked me to let you know that I'm OK, and yes, I am fine. Hope you and Bill are well (and Gabrielle too, if she's there – Charlie told me she was coming sometime this week?). Congratulations again on the baby – though you've probably heard it a million times before, by now! Thanks again for helping me,_

_Hermione_

_

* * *

__Monday, 1__st__ October_

_Dear Ginny,_

_Here is another reason why Harry is a better boyfriend than Ron: Harry has never cracked you over the head with a jug and given you a concussion. I had__ a bit of a headache yesterday throughout lunch, and it got worse when I came home, but I thought that I just had a migraine or a tension headache or whatever (I get that from time to time, usually for no apparent reason) and went to have a lie down. Next thing I'm consciously aware of, it's half twelve (in the morning . . . well, afternoon I suppose, but in the daytime is what I'm trying to say) and I've just woken up. _

_So, __I walk into the kitchen, and there's a note for me from Charlie, telling me that I had a bad concussion, that he took me to Shell Cottage, that Fleur gave me a potion to relieve my concussion, but that the potion made me sleep in. According to the note, I'm not allowed to go into work today, but it's OK because Charlie has already called in to say I'm sick. _

_Then, b__its of the evening start coming back to me. I vaguely remember Charlie looking concerned and telling me I need to go to Bill and Fleur's. I recall the feeling of him picking me up, and trying to apparate out of the flat, me telling him that there were anti-apparition wards up, and that he needed to go outside, and then us standing (well, him standing, me still in his arms) in the cold of the garden of Shell Cottage. I remember Fleur talking to me – my headache was so bad that her words became unintelligible, but it sounded soothing – and then a pretty foul tasting potion, then nothing until I woke up, an hour or so ago. How horrendously embarrassing._

_I tell you something though – a concussion doesn't half leave you feeling hungry (although that could be more to do with the fact that I hadn't had anything to eat for the past twenty four hours). I've literally just eaten/am eating whilst I write this: two big sandwiches, a packet of crisps, an apple and an orange, a big yoghurt (vanilla and honey flavour) and a piece of chocolate cake. I'm such a pig! And I've drunk so much too – in the space of . . . it's 1:42pm now, so basically about 1 hour and 5 minutes, I've drunk 3 glasses of water, a glass of orange juice, and I've just made a cup of tea. Just don't ever get a concussion, OK? You feel shockingly bad during it, you have to take a FOUL potion, and you feel like a greedy pig for eating so much afterwards. Not fun. _

_Why did this have to happen to me? It's so embarrassing – I survived trekking all over sodding Britain with Harry when we went Horcrux hunting, without a single (major – I will admit to the odd cut from a bramble, or something) injury. Apart from that one time at Malfoy Manor, but still. The whole thing makes me feel like I'm an immature child again – Merlin only knows what Charlie must think of me . . ._

_Well, I must be going. I've got a couple of letters to mail, and then I think I'll have a nice bath and curl up with a good book, and enjoy my day off. We have got to meet up (properly) for a chat sometime – and I don't just mean at your house at lunchtime once a month – I mean properly, just us two and a few mugs of hot chocolate, and you can tell me all about Harry proposing and your wedding and whatnot, OK? Talk to you soon,_

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione xxx_

* * *

Coming out of her flat, on the ground floor, Hermione was surprised, but not shocked, to bump into Dean Thomas. The block of flats was owned by a muggle landlord, but it was very popular with magical students and apprentices, because of it's close proximity to London, and, therefore the Ministry, Gringotts and Diagon Alley, and also because of the cheap rates. Hermione had met the Patil twins, Ernie MacMillan and Marietta Edgecomb (the latter was a very strained and awkward meeting in the foyer one morning), and she had seen a few other ex-Hogwarts students around the building, some she knew by name, others by sight only, and she had only been there for just over a month.

She greeted him and found out that he was renting a room on the fifth floor. They exchanged pleasantries – she discovered that he was working in the Muggle Relations department at the Minsitry, and was on the evening shift tonight, so he was leaving soon – but he excused himself, and said he had to be getting off to work. Hermione apparated away too, to the post office on Diagon Alley, and sent off her letters, before returning to her flat and having a long, relaxing bath.

She towelled herself dry, pulled on some underwear and a pair of jeans, hesitated slightly, and put Charlie's old Quidditch top on again, telling herself it was because the smell of whatever washing powder Mrs. Weasley (or Charlie) used was comforting and relaxing. Then, she curled up in an armchair with one of Molly's rather mindless, but, nonetheless, still completely riveting, romance novels. She lit the fire and summoned a mug of hot chocolate when she got cold, and was just contemplating getting up to make a start on dinner (although this would probably just entail getting a few plates and saucepans out of the cupboard, as she wasn't sure what Charlie was planning on cooking, and, anyway, even if she did know, she couldn't cook, so there would be no point), when the front door clicked.

She looked up, and saw Charlie himself entering the living room. "Charlie!" she cried. He looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Hermione! Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much!" said Hermione, and, sized with a sudden impulse, she jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Thank you so much for looking after me!" she added, as he stood there, frozen to the spot.

* * *

**Once again, thank you very, very much to all my kind reviewers of last chapter – your thoughtfulness was much appreciated :) Any more questions/comments/criticism can be directed to the management, via the purple button, located to your down (and left a bit) :D Thanks, and I'll try to update soon x **


	5. Shopping

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine, I'm just playing :P**

* * *

Charlie stood, frozen to the spot, feeling Hermione's arms around him and the warmth coming from her body. She broke away quickly, embarrassed. Her face was flushed the deepest red – Weasley red, some distant, unconnected part of his brain noted with some amusement – and she didn't look him in the eyes at all. "Sorry," she muttered, and scarped off into her bedroom, shutting the door with a small click.

Charlie finally managed to unstick himself from his position in the doorway. A tiny part of his brain was proud of himself that he hadn't picked her up and kissed the living daylights out of her, like he had been wanting oh-so-badly to do. Another part of his brain was berating him for _not_ doing the whole kissing feverishly thing. A third part had taken the time to notice how nice she smelled. However, the fourth and biggest part of his mind was beating himself up viciously, for not doing anything. He had just had the best excuse in the world _ever_ to hug her. Yes, she had a boyfriend, and all, but it wasn't like that – it would have just been a platonic hug between friends. The type he would give his mother.

(Well, the type he would give his mother minus the sexual tension on his part, but he skipped over that.) The point was she had insinuated a hug – a hug of friendship, a hug to say thank you, whatever – and he could have just hugged her back. And he didn't. And now, it seemed, he would never have the chance to again.

He sighed, and decided that he would prepare a vegetable lasagne for dinner, after he had changed out of his work robes, and had a quick shower. It was going to be an embarrassing evening, what with Hermione seeming to be not speaking to him at all. He realised in resignation that he must have seemed rather rude to her – staring down at her with a look of shock – almost horror - on his face. Not exactly what a girl would want to see. He added that to his mental list of things to kick, punch and otherwise physically maim himself for.

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed, her pulse racing and her cheeks flushed. She clenched her fists together, in an effort to stop her fingers shaking. What had she done? Everything and nothing. Why had she hugged Charlie? It was just a friendly thing . . . wasn't it? What was going on?

She took a deep breath and flopped back on her bed. Was it possible that she liked Charlie . . . just a little bit, in _that_ way? Possibly. He was so friendly and easy to talk to. He had looked after her, yesterday, when she had had that awful concussion. His Quidditch top smelt awfully nice. He was very good-looking (not that she had been staring at him, that time when he came out of the bathroom wearing just a towel, or anything . . .). He could cook. He was every girl's dream.

He was probably taken. She knew so little about him that he could have a wife and kids back in Romania, and she wouldn't be any the wiser. She highly doubted the whole married thing, but it was very likely that he had a girlfriend that she knew nothing about. What guy like him wouldn't? He could even have a boyfriend – she didn't even know _that_ about him.

Anyway, even if he was straight and fully available, _she_ was taken. She had a boyfriend. Her boyfriend was Charlie's younger brother. It was an impossible situation. She _couldn't_ like him. It just wasn't allowed. She didn't like him that much anyway, did she? Or did she? It was just a crush, like when she had been a teenager. Wasn't it?

Merlin, what must he have thought of her? He probably thought she was some little tart – running around throwing herself at guys when she already had a boyfriend. And he had just stood there with a look of shock – nay, horror! – on his face. It was probably his worst nightmare come true, to be hugged by her.

God, Ginny was so much better at handling these kinds of situations. (And not only because Charlie was her brother, so any hugging would be natural and of the sibling-love kind, as opposed to the silly little girl with a crush on an unobtainable older man kind. Seriously, what was she, fourteen?) She would know what to do. Hermione could write to her . . . but then, she'd already written her one letter that day, and anyway, what would she say?

"_Hi, Ginny, how're you? I'm good thanks – the only thing is I think I might be in love with your brother. No, I don't mean the one I'm going out with – I mean the second oldest, the dragon tamer, who spends most of his time in Romania, the one about whom that is virtually all I know. But of course, I can't fancy him, 'cause of the slightly major problem that I am already going out with someone – the aforementioned youngest brother. Bummer, eh? Any tips on what to do? Love, Hermione x_." Uh, yeah. Maybe not.

Hermione tried to pretend that she wasn't hiding in her room for the next hour or so. . .she could probably come up with a reason for being in there if she tried, but she knew she was hiding really. She was so embarrassed. She removed Charlie's top, folded it neatly, and pulled on an old jumper that Molly had sent her two or three Christmases ago. Very softly, she opened the door and crept into Charlie's room. She placed the jumped on the foot of his bed with a note on top of it, reading simply "_Thanks for everything_". Then she walked into the kitchen, where Charlie was just draining some salad through a colander into the kitchen sink.

"Um . . . is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, trying not to blush red again.

"Uh," Charlie cast his eyes around the kitchen. "Nah – I think I've got everything under control here. But you could lay the table, if you wanted."

"Of course," said Hermione. She walked over to the drawer and got out a couple of plates and the knives and forks. Then she poured two glasses of pumpkin juice and rearranged the vase of flowers in the middle of the table. It would have been a lot quicker to do it by magic, but it gave her something to concentrate on, other than Charlie. She was very determinedly not looking at him, something he noticed with regret.

Dinner itself was a fairly strained and awkward affair – their conversation about the weather could only be dragged out for about five minutes, even if they were British. After that, they sat in near silence for the rest of the meal.

She offered to clear up after the meal, and there was much conversation of the "I'll do it," "No, you cooked," "Honestly, I insist!" type, but eventually everything was clean and back in its proper place, and they adjourned to the lounge. An owl had arrived earlier for Hermione containing a copy of the notes and other things that she had missed today from Isabelle and Coralie, and she was anxious to go over these, so she wouldn't fall behind, and Charlie had quite a bit of paperwork from the reserve to fill in.

After about an hour or so of working, Charlie let out a low groan. "You alright?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"All this paperwork," he replied, exasperated. "You'd think it was OK just for the reserve workers to sign to say we were bringing three Swedish Short Snout's into the country, but apparently we need a Ministry official to sign too – and not any old Ministry official – it has to be a person specializing in magical creatures from the Law Enforcement department. It's all a bit ridiculous, you know?"

"Give it here," said Hermione, holding out her hands for the papers.

"Huh?" asked Charlie, confused.

"I'm a member of the Law Enforcement department . . . well, I'm a trainee, anyway, but as long as it doesn't say anywhere that trainees can't sign, we should be OK, and I specialise in magical creatures. Give me the papers, and I'll sign them," she said. He didn't move. "Either I'll sign them now, and you can have them for tomorrow, or you can send them off to the Ministry and wait two weeks at the _very_ earliest for someone else to sign them and whatnot."

"I'll take the first option, thanks," he said, handing over the papers. "Just here, here, and over there, please," he added, pointing out the various places that he needed her to sign. She signed where he indicated, her quill making scratching sounds on the parchment. "Are you _sure_ this is completely legal?" he couldn't help adding. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to lose your job over this. And I'm quite fond of my own position, too," he joked.

She pulled a face. "Well, technically it doesn't say anywhere that trainees or students or whatever can't sign, but I guess strictly it's not legal. It's one of those things that isn't written down as being against the law, but everyone kind of knows that it is anyway, if you get my drift?" Charlie nodded. "However, I know you, and I know that you'll have prepared everything as it should be prepared with regards to bringing in the dragons, and also that you're not going to be smuggling anything in illegally, so it's not like you're some dodgy dealer in a pub or whatever. And, like I said, if you were to send it off, it'd take at least a fortnight to get back to you, so I might as well do it – we'll be saving someone some time . . . " She trailed off.

"But I won't go round advertising that it was you who signed," he said.

"That's probably very wise. And if they do investigate, we'll hold our hands up and say that we're very sorry and all the rest of it, that we didn't know I wasn't allowed to, and so on, but at the same time point out that it doesn't say anywhere that it's illegal," Hermione said, handing Charlie back the papers.

"Ta," he said. "And that sounds like a plan to me!" She smiled, thankful that they both seemed to have forgotten about the evening's earlier events. "So . . . you said you were going to specialize in magical creatures?" he asked, curious.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes lighting up. "Basically, you can do the basic law degree – well, obviously you kind of have to, if you want to work for Law Enforcement – and if you want to, you can choose to do an extra specialism in a particular subject area. Not many people choose to, 'cause it's a lot of extra work, but it means that there are more opportunities further up the career ladder – more doors open for you, so to speak – but for me, the main reason for choosing Magical Creatures was that I believe it's important to give creatures like house elves a voice!"

"Yes – Ron told me you were interested in improving the working conditions for them, or something?" Charlie asked, curiously. He wondered what had gotten Hermione so worked up – she was positively bursting with energy throughout her short speech.

"Yes – S.P.E.W.," she replied. "I want to make it so that house elves have sick-pay, holiday leave, maternity cover, all the kind of stuff we take for granted. Merlin knows – actual wages would be a start! Honestly – wizards can be very hypocritical about these sorts of things," she said, looking at Charlie seriously.

"What sorts of things?" he asked.

"Well, they all think that the African Slave trade – you know, taking innocent people from Africa and making them work in the cotton plantations of the Americas and so on – was a terrible, terrible thing – which of course, it was – but they believe it is a sign of how backward and unfair and cruel muggles can be. And of course, it is unfair and cruel – I'm not taking that away, at all – but I cannot see how they can criticise muggles for being pro-slavery when that's what wizards are doing with house elves – they're treating them as slaves!"

"Well, now, come on, that's a bit . . . extreme, isn't it?" Charlie asked, cautiously.

"Charlie, if someone is working for no pay, what does that make them?" Hermione shot back. Charlie half-nodded, and gave a small smile.

"You're right," he said. "Of course." She grinned.

"And don't you forget it, Charles Weasley," she said jokingly. "Anyway, so originally I was just going to protest on behalf of house elves, but then I started reading some stuff on other non-wizard magical beings – you know, merpeople, pixies, goblins and the like – and I started to realise just how badly they have been treated by wizards over the years. Not that they're entirely innocent of any wrongdoing, but the point is, generally, wizards are worse to them than they are to us. So, I think it's about time we all started to work in harmony with each other, and I intend upon making that happen!"

Charlie was, frankly, amazed. Hermione Granger was going to change the world – he knew it. Not just with her opinions – though they were contentious enough to spark heated debate amongst many who dwelt in the wizarding world – but because he was sure that if anyone could take her arguments and make them become a reality, she could. She seemed so . . . so _passionate_ about what she was saying – like she truly believed it, and it wasn't just some act. "I guess it's never been more obvious to me that you're muggle-born, Hermione," he said to her.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, stiffening. She wasn't sure whether she had just been insulted or complimented, or neither.

"I just meant that no pure-blood or half-blood or whatever, who had grown up in a magical family, would have the same thoughts as you. We all just accept things the way they are already . . . which isn't necessarily a good thing. It takes someone like you, who has grown up in a non-magical household, to see things differently – as they really are – and try to change that," he said. "I reckon you'll get a lot of respect for that. At least, from the people who matter."

"Thanks, Charlie," she said. "You know, you're the first person to agree with me, properly. I manage to argue Harry, Ginny and Bill round, and I think I'm nearly there with Percy, but Ron still thinks I'm mad." She shook her head, sadly.

"More fool him, then," Charlie replied, shortly. He was jealous of Ron, who, in having Hermione had everything that he, Charlie, wanted, and yet seemed unable to appreciate it. However, he felt that expressing this opinion to Hermione might (justifiably) alarm her, as it made him seem like a freakish stalker and pervert. "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I'm off to my bed, now!" It was late and he was tired, and it wasn't exactly wise to be sleepy and not quite with it around a bunch of dragons.

"Me, too," said Hermione, before turning a most spectacular shade of crimson.

"Well, the idea of a beautiful young woman such as yourself in my bed gives me immense pleasure," he said, keeping his tone of voice light and jocular, "but I fear that Ron might have something to say about it, so perhaps it is not such a good idea, after all."

"No, p-probably not!" she squeaked, still blushing furiously. Why oh why oh why oh why did she always end up saying the wrong thing around him? She couldn't seem to go a day without seeming to make a comment that was laced with some sexual innuendo or another – and it always seemed to happen around him! She never had this trouble when she was conversing with Bill, or Percy, or George, or Harry – or any other male friends. Why did it have to happen when she was with Charlie? She mentally cursed herself over and over again.

"I don't mind hanging around for a bit whilst you use the bathroom to have a shower, or whatever," Charlie said.

After much "Oh, no, I couldn't"-ing and "Now really, I insist"-ing, they both used the bathroom and retired to their rooms. Charlie folded his clothes and drew the curtains in his own room, before picking up his neatly folded Quidditch top, and placing it in his wardrobe. He noticed a piece of paper that had fluttered to the floor, and picked it up. Three words - "Thanks for everything" – were written in Hermione's hand. He stared at it for longer than was necessary, then carefully placed it in a wooden box that he dragged out from under his bed. The box was slightly bigger than a shoebox, and contained many letters and photographs of his family and friends that he had received over the years.

It's not like he was a stalker for doing it. Keeping a note that had three words on it, from a girl he was never going to get. Well, maybe he was . . . just a little bit. Hah – there was no "maybe" about it – he definitely was. Damn, she was cute when she blushed! He needed to stop thinking about her. Keeping the note wasn't going to help that plan, though. Maybe, just maybe, on some spiritual level, though, it made up for the fact that he had frozen, earlier, when she hugged him. Oh, shut it! What a load of dragon dung! Of course it bloody wouldn't. But still, he didn't think he was a stalker. He didn't know how he would survive, when she kept accidentally making comments like the one she had made earlier about wanting to get into his bed. On a purely innocent level, of course. Gah – he _couldn't_ do anything with her. He would corrupt her! No – she was too clever to let anyone corrupt her. He _really_ needed to stop thinking about her.

He made himself recite the alphabet backwards, over and over, until he eventually fell asleep, his thoughts still as jumbled as they had been before, and his dreams peppered with house elves, goblins, Hermione and Bill's face, frowning and saying "No!" repeatedly. And really, it didn't matter that he didn't take Divination, because he had no trouble, come morning, divining what the last image meant.

* * *

_Saturday, 6__th__ October_

_Hey Hermione!_

_Sorry it took me so long to reply – I've been really busy training and whatnot and I'm a really pathetic friend for not writing back sooner, I'm really sorry, grovel, grovel, please forgive me? _

_You have? Good. 'Cause just you wait until you hear (should that be read? Hmm. Anyway!) what I've got to tell you! Basically, you know I told you about how there was a thing going on between George and Katie Bell? Well, a thing basically translates as not much at all, except she's had a crush on him for ages, and there was a slight possibility that he liked her back. Well, OK, a big possibility that he liked her back. But that's as far as anyone thought it went._

_Anyway, on Wednesday Angelina Johnson fell off her broom and broke her ankle. It was healed pretty quickly, but she got the rest of the day, and Thursday off to recuperate, to make sure it was properly healed and everything. ANYWAY, she decided to go back home and spend some time with Joe Connon, her boyfriend (you wouldn't know him), and she ended up going for a meal with Joe and a load of old friends from school – well, that was the plan, but in the end, only George and Katie could come._

_(You may start to see where I am going with this!)_

_I think they went to Hogsmeade, or somewhere, and, after the meal, Angelina and Joe went for a "walk". (They're not fooling me with this walk business, but the point is, George and Katie were alone.) And they came back from their . . . um . . . amble, and (in Angelina's own words) "George and Katie had their tongues so far down each other's throats, one can only hope that they enjoy the taste of liver". _

_Apparently, George and Katie have been dating in secret for three months, now!!_

_I think I will give you some space to get over that:_

_._

_I hope that that was enough space, because it gets better! I've just had a floo conversation with Mum, and she says that George brought Katie round on Friday night, and they and Mum and Dad had a meal together, so they could get to know each other. And, apparently, she is a very nice girl, and George seems totally enamoured of her. In case you hadn't already worked it out, that's Mum's words, not mine. _

_So yeah, basically that's all the gossip from the Weasley household at the moment. And very exciting it is too. By the way, don't tell Charlie. On second thoughts, do what ever you want with Charlie. Oo-er. Perhaps not. Just . . . yeah, I don't really see the point in trying to keep this a secret for much longer,' cause Dad's planning a big celebration for Mum's birthday at the end of the month, and he's told George to bring her along. _

_Anyway, what've you been up to? (Apart from the whole concussion thing, of course.) By the way – if you haven't already killed dear Ronald for that, please do me the honour of letting me know the place, date and time etc, so I can be present and assist you. Not that you need assistance, or anything, I would just rather like to participate. Thank you. But seriously – I hope you're feeling much better now._

_You are right (of course): we do need to meet up. Soon. However, I assume you're going to the Ministry ball, on Friday 19__th__ October? Well, I am too (Harry asked me as his date), and I need a dress. And I have a vague recollection of a previous letter from you, saying that you needed a dress. So, how about we go shopping next Saturday (13th) and also grab a coffee and whatnot, so we can chat and catch up. I have the whole of Saturday free, but not Sunday, so I'll arrange portkeys and everything, if that's OK with you. _

_Have to go now – hopefully I'll see you on Saturday. Hope Ron isn't being too much of a pain in the ass (or Charlie, for that matter – he has an absolutely _appalling_ sense of humour which can really get on one's nerves). Don't kill either of them – I don't know what I'd do if you went to Azkaban._

_Lots of love_

_Ginny xoxo_

_

* * *

__Tuesday 9__th__ October_

_Gin,_

_Saturday is fine. Come to my flat, and we'll go to Diagon Alley or wherever from there. Am fine – concussion was better by the Monday. Have not killed Ron yet. Actually agreed to go to ball with him, 'cause he was v. sweet when he asked me. Will tell you when see you. Have no time to write anything else, although have lots to say, as am snowed under with work, and am not going to have the chance to do much at weekend, due to shopping etc, so must get it done now. And Charlie is all but dragging me to table to eat as I write. So must go. See you Sat._

_Hermione x_

"Gin, would you mind coming to give me a hand with the zip on this?" Hermione called across the curtain of her small dressing room.

"Yeah, sure," Ginny replied. "Can I come in?"

"Feel free," said Hermione, then gaped slightly as Ginny pulled back the curtain. "Wow! You look _amazing_!" she said.

"You like it?" asked Ginny, trying to sound casual, but a small grin was making it's way across her face. Ginny was wearing a strapless chocolate-brown dress, made of silk, with sequin details all over the bodice. The colour looked lovely with her hair, and fitted perfectly on her Quidditch toned body.

"Gin, you are going to have all the guys hating you and all the girls hating you also. Well, the girls will definitely hate you, for looking so fabulous, but the boys will probably just end up hating Harry, for daring to be engaged to you," replied Hermione.

Ginny laughed. "I'm glad you think it's nice," she said. "It's the one I'm planning on getting. And you don't look too bad yourself!" She finished zipping Hermione into her dress, and stood back. "In fact, Mione, you look downright stunning!"

Hermione blushed and smiled. Her dress was a beautiful red colour, with a plunging neckline and a skirt that finished on her knees, with an inch of so of black netting underneath. It clung to the her body, emphasizing her curves and making her look taller than she was, a fact she loved. "Thanks, Ginny. I think I've found my dress, too," she said.

And so, half an hour later, and after eleven shops and over thirty dresses between them, Hermione and Ginny sat down in a small café, on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in front of them, and two bags, each containing a stunning dress beside them.

"So, tell me about the wedding, and everything," Hermione said, expectantly, taking a big sip of her drink.

"Well, we haven't set a date yet," began Ginny. "But we're thinking early May, 'cause a springtime wedding would be really nice, I think." Hermione nodded. "And I suggested that we have it in the garden of the Burrow, like Bill and Fleur did, but Harry just smiled and said 'well, we'll have to wait and see' when I said that, though, so I think he has something up his sleeve."

"What, he's going to come up with somewhere else for you to get married at?" Hermione asked.

"It seems so. But to be honest, I don't really know where. I mean, we can't exactly have it at a church, or another muggle place, 'cause of all of us witches and wizardsa around, and I hardly think he had happy memories of his Aunt and Uncle's place. There's always number 12, Grimmauld Place, I guess," Ginny replied.

"Yes – I can see that," Hermione said, sarcastically. "Do you, Ginevra Molly Wealsey, take Harry James Potter to be your lawful wedded MUDBLOODS! BLOOD TRAITORS! GETTING MARRIED IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK! HOW DARE THEY!" she quipped.

Ginny laughed. "Yeah, exactly. Not at _my_ wedding!" she said. "Anyway – enough about me! Tell me about you – you said Ron asked you to the ball?"

"Yeah – he was really sweet about it, actually. He was really apologetic about giving me a concussion, and he brought me flowers. Not very nice ones – you know, the type that only a bloke buys – but still, it was a nice gesture. Then he asked me to go to this ball with him, and I said yes," Hermione said.

"Doesn't sound like Ron," Ginny commented. "But still, it was sweet. By the way, what's this ball meant to be for?"

"Well, basically, it's just a ball for all the students in all the departments, and the younger employees of the Ministry sometimes come along as well. They hold one around this time each year, generally to raise money for some charity or another. I'm pretty sure they're raising money for a new ward in St. Mungo's this year, actually," said Hermione.

"Oh right, I see. I'll have to bring some cash then," Ginny replied. There was a small pause, then Ginny asked, "So, what's life like with Charlie?"

"Oh it's . . . it's good," said Hermione, sounding slightly doubtful.

Ginny looked puzzled. "Good? Are you sure?" she questioned.

"Well, what I mean is, Charlie's a nice person and all the rest of it – in fact, he was really lovely when he fixed me up when I had the concussion and everything – it's just . . . well me, really."

"You?" her friend asked.

"I keep saying these things – stupid little things really, but stupid little things that could be taken the wrong way, you know what I mean? Stupid little innuendos, things that you don't realise have a double meaning until it's too late. He must think I'm a total freak. I feel like a silly little teenager sometimes. And he has this thing where he makes me flirt!" she finished, sounding slightly outraged.

Ginny was confused. "He _makes_ you flirt?" she asked.

"Yeah – he has this . . . I don't know this _thing_ about him that makes me want to flirt with him! And I have a boyfriend! I just feel so girly and giggly and flirty around him though! It's ridiculous. And he flirts back sometimes. Well, I think he does. I'm not sure. It might be that I'm reading too much into it, you know? I'm so confused," Hermione sighed.

Ginny's lips twitched – a fact that did not go unnoticed by Hermione. "What?" she asked, suspiciously.

"You. You have a crush on Charlie," Ginny said. Hermione choked, spraying hot chocolate down her front. Ginny calmly waved her wand, removing the stains.

"I don't . . . I wouldn't . . . I'm not . . ." Hermione babbled, outraged to the point of incoherence.

"So you totally are, then," Ginny replied, knowingly.

"I am not in love with Charlie!" shrieked Hermione, loudly enough that a couple of other people in the small café turned to look at them. "I mean, I'm not in love with Charlie!" she hissed, more quietly.

"Me thinks she doth protest too much," said Ginny. Hermione glared at her. "Look," Ginny said. "You're not in love with him – I never said that, I just think you have a small crush on him. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"But . . . but I have a boyfriend already!" said Hermione. "And my boyfriend is Charlie's brother!"

"Yes, I know that," replied Ginny, patiently. "But listen, just because you have a boyfriend, doesn't mean that you can't still look at other guys. I'm completely in love with Harry, of course, but I can still say that I think Joe – Angelina's boyfriend – has got a gorgeous body: I mean, you should just see his abs! Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked – you can still have slight crushes on guys, even when you're married – look at Mum with Lockhart a few years ago. She _blatantly_ had a crush on him, but that doesn't mean she was ever, ever in a million years going to leave Dad for him. As long as you're just flirting a bit with Charlie, there's no harm done, is there?"

"Well. . ." Hermione said, doubtfully.

"Look, you've been going out with Ron for a couple of years now, and during that time you've never looked twice at another guy, right?" Hermione nodded. "Now, all of a sudden, you've got a guy, who some would say is rather good-looking, though I prefer not to think of my brothers that way, living in your house with you. You see him more often and more intimately – like first thing in the morning, and when he comes out of the shower without a top on, or whatever – than you see your boyfriend. I think it's only natural that you have a slight crush on him, and maybe flirt a bit. But as long as you don't do anything about it – you know, jump into bed with him or whatever – and I _know_ that Charlie would never do anything to you, especially not whilst you had a boyfriend, nothing bad is going to come of it. If anything, the flirting will keep you in shape in the romance department for when you see Ron," Ginny said, with a wink.

"I suppose," Hermione replied, a few traces of doubt still lingering in her voice.

"Hermione, you look as though you've stolen a Firebolt or something," Ginny said, sounding slightly exasperated. "You're not a slut; you've just got a slight crush on someone. You'll be over him in a month or so. It's OK – you're not going to get thrown into Azkaban, or anything."

Hermione gave a small laugh. "Yeah, you're right, Gin," she said.

"Of course I am," replied Ginny, with a smile. "And anyway – you know what boys are like – totally oblivious. Charlie probably doesn't realise that you're even flirting with him. And Ron would only notice if you and Charlie started having sex in front of him, or something."

"Oh, God, Ginny, that's disgusting!" Hermione said, laughing at her friend.

Ginny looked slightly horrified at what she'd just said. "Yes, it is rather. Urgh – what a revolting image! Get out of my brain!"

They finished their drinks, then Ginny announced that she had to be going, as her Portkey left in ten minutes.

"Give me your dress, then," said Hermione. "I'll take it back to my flat and hang it up in the wardrobe. You're going to come back to mine on Friday and we'll get ready for the ball together."

"I am?" Ginny asked.

"You are. We can do each other's hair and make-up and what have you," Hermione replied. "Treat each other like Barbies."

"What are Barbies?" asked Ginny.

"Muggle thing, it doesn't matter," replied Hermione. "But you'll come, won't you?"

"Of course – what kind of time should I be there?" queried Ginny.

"Well, I get let out at four, but I usually stay for another hour or so after that, but I don't think I will on Friday. So, come along to mine at about four o'clock?" she asked.

"Sound's good!" said Ginny. "I look forward to it. Now, I really have to go." She picked up her handbag, gave Hermione a quick hug, and apparated away. Hermione picked up her own belongings, including Ginny's dress, and apparated away also, to her flat. She couldn't wait until Friday.

* * *

**Hey guys! Sorry about the slight wait – I was enjoying the two days of summery weather we have had in GB so far this year. :S They were fun whilst they lasted . . . Anyway, once the rain started up again, I was distracted from writing by going e-shopping for Ginny and Hermione's dresses – if you're interested, I have linked them into my profile! Thanks again for the lovely reviews :D x**


	6. Ball

**DISCLAIMER: All belongs to JKR. Good for her!**

* * *

Charlie was a patient man. He was, really he was. But Hermione and Ginny had been in the bathroom for two hours now (possibly more – it was half past six, and he knew that they had arranged to meet at four) and he _really_ needed a shower. Working with dragons all day was hard work, and he was sweaty and smelt of dragon dung. He wouldn't have minded waiting (although he had been back since five), but he was going out for a drink with his brothers that night, and they wouldn't appreciate him stinking to high heaven, but neither would they appreciate having to wait for him to get ready, before they could go out. He banged hard on the bathroom door.

"Are you ladies _ever_ going to come out of there?" he asked, rather exasperatedly.

"Oh, yes, in a couple of hours," replied Ginny's voice.

"Yeah, but I need to take a shower," he called back.

"Well, you'll have to wait, won't you?" his sister replied. "We're getting ready to go out!"

"So am I! If you would actually let me, that is," he said, trying not to sound too petulant.

"We won't be too much longer, Charlie – we're leaving at quarter past seven," called Hermione's voice. "Anyway, where are you going?"

"I'm meeting up with Bill, Percy and George to have a drink or two," he said. "I just wanted to take a quick shower because I don't think they'd appreciate my smelling like I've been rolling in dragon dung all day." He mentally cursed himself. That wasn't exactly the image that he wanted Hermione to have of him . . .

He heard her laugh, then squeak slightly. "Ow, Ginny, that's my eyeball!"

"Well, if you would just keep still-"

"I'm trying to talk to Charlie-"

"Damn it, you moved again-"

"Ouch!"

"BUGGER IT!"

"That was _your_ fault, but _my _eyeball, and it HURT! Don't do it again!"

"Is everything OK in there?" Charlie asked, amused.

"Yes!" Came Hermione's voice, at the same time as Ginny called "No!" He chuckled. "Look, just apparate to my flat, and use the shower there, 'cause if you stay here you'll distract Hermione, and I'm trying to do her make-up, and it isn't working because she keeps moving about to talk to you. And you won't shut up until you've had a shower, and you can't come in here, because we have a ball to get to! So, go use my flat," Ginny said.

"Thanks Gin," Charlie called back. "You know you love me really!" he finished, apparating away.

* * *

"Hey, Bill, how's things?" Charlie asked his older brother, opening the door of Hermione's flat to him, half an hour later.

"Things are pretty good, Charlie. How about you?" Bill replied, sitting down on the sofa.

"Oh, y'know. Good," Charlie replied. "What's it like having Fleur's little sister to stay at your place?" Bill groaned. "That bad, huh?"

"No . . . not really. I mean, she's a sweet kid, and all, but man! All they do is talk in French! And I mean, it's nice for Fleur, 'cause she gets to talk to someone in her native language and everything, but I can sit there for half an hour, during dinner or whatever, and not say a word, because I don't understand the conversation at all. And every time they laugh, I think they're laughing at me!" Bill finished, sounding slightly outraged.

"Aww, poor ickle Bill!" Charlie teased. "Not being able to understand things! Poor baby, such a shame!"

"Oh, shut up, Charlie," Bill replied, good-naturedly. "Else I shall be forced to hit you repeatedly over the head, with that rather hefty looking tome over there," he said, indicating a very thick book of Hermione's, entitled "_House Elves through the ages, and their relationships with humans, with a foreword by Henrietta Hagglepuff_".

"Now, really boys, is that any way to treat someone else's possessions?" Ginny asked, appearing from the bathroom. They both looked over at her. She was wearing her dress, which clung to her curves; a pair of super high gold heels; and her hair had been curled ever so slightly by Hermione, so it fell in waves down her back.

"Hey, Ginny! You look fantastic!" Charlie said.

"Yeah – nice dress, sis!" Bill added.

"Thanks," replied Ginny. "You think Harry'll like it?"

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll like it enough to make sure it stays on your body, where it belongs, if you get my drift," said Bill, slightly threateningly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Bill! I'm a big girl now, I can take care of myself," she said.

"I know," Bill said mournfully. "You grew up too fast . . ." he sighed.

"Oh, shut up! You sound like Mum," Ginny laughed.

Bill gulped. "Now that's scary! I just want you to – Hermione! Another gorgeous lady! My, Harry and Ron are getting all the fun tonight!"

Hermione blushed. "Thanks Bill," she said, smiling. "Ginny, have you seen my black clutch?"

"Isn't it on the table? Oh yes – there it is, over there. Hey! Charlie!" Ginny turned her attention to her second eldest brother, who hadn't said a word, and snapped her fingers in his face. "Stop gawping at Hermione – it's not polite!" she teased.

Hermione blushed again, and the tips of Charlie's ears went red. "I wasn't _gawping_!" he protested.

"Much," added Bill. Charlie shot him a glare.

"You do look nice, though, Hermione," he said, looking back at her.

"Thank you, Charlie," she replied, looking at him, then quickly down at the floor.

There was a moment's awkward silence, before Ginny stepped in to help her friend. "So, Hermione," she began. "You said that you'd teach me at least one formal dance, so that I don't make a complete fool of myself?"

"Yes, of course," replied Hermione. "Hmm. I think we'll do the waltz, because that's a fairly simple one, and I think Harry knows it – when we had to go for dancing lessons for the Yule Ball, that was the only one he seemed to be able to do, so I should imagine that you'll find it pretty easy to pick up. Right. Just let me move the furniture back – excuse me, guys," she added to Bill and Charlie, as the sofa they were sitting on zoomed back against the far wall, along with most other objects in the room, with a mere flick of Hermione's wand. A large empty space appeared in the middle of the room.

"Now, watch me," she instructed. "You start in this position-" She struck a pose, and Ginny copied her. "Very good. Now the waltz is in three time, so you go back, side, together, back, side, together, repeating every three beats. You see?" Ginny nodded. "Right, do it with me. Back, side, together, back, side, together, back, two, three, back, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three . . . that's very good – you've got it straight away!"

Ginny laughed, and kept waltzing around the space. "Well, if Harry can do it . . . can't be that hard, can it?" she joked.

Hermione laughed. "Now, you've got to learn how to hold your partner properly. You'd put your left hand on their . . . uh . . . right shoulder, and your right hand on their left arm." Ginny put her hands in the air, holding an imaginary partner in her arms.

"Allow me," Bill intervened, standing in front of Ginny, and putting her hands on his shoulder and arm. "Fleur made me learn for the wedding. That's right, isn't it?" he added to Hermione.

"Yeah, that's good," she waved her wand, and music emanated from it. "And . . . one, two, three! Back, side, together, back, side, together!" She stopped counting as Bill and Ginny both seemed to be doing fine without her. "Right, Ginny, you've got to let Bill lead you, 'cause he's the man. And Bill, stop looking at you're feet, they're not going to fall off. Steer her gently, don't hulk her around the dance floor. That's better. You've got to let him lead you Gin – I promise I'll hex him if he steers you into something painful. That's good! That's very good, you're both – oh!"

"May I?" Charlie asked, placing her hands on his shoulder and arm, and taking her in his arms the same way Bill was holding Ginny.

Hermione blushed. "Oh! I . . . why, I'd love to dance with you Mr. Weasley!" she said, with a dazzling smile.

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, the pleasure is all mine," he replied, imitating her lofty tone.

"You flatter me," she continued, "But, pray tell: can you actually dance the waltz?"

"Uh . . . no," he admitted, switching back to his normal tone of voice. "But I was kinda hoping you could teach me?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"OK then," said Hermione. "It's very simple really; you just start on the opposite foot to me, and go forward instead of back. So, it's forward, side, together, forward, side, together . . . that's it!" They waltzed around the room together, Hermione's lower back tingling slightly where his hand was touching her. He held her close, and she enjoyed the smell of him – soapy and clean and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Kind of woody, and outdoorsy, and . . . _manly_. He smelt nice.

For his part, Charlie was resisting the urge to stroke her incredibly soft-looking hair. She had straightened it, using a potion, and it appeared longer than usual, falling just below, instead of just above, her shoulders. Ginny had gathered half of it up at the back into a loose bun, and teased strands out of that, which she had let wave loosely. It could have just been the light, or she could have added a potion to her hair or something, but Charlie could have sworn her hair looked lighter than usual. It seemed to have a golden sheen to it – somewhere in the middle of red and blonde and brown. "Seen something interesting?" Hermione teased, noticing him staring at her head.

"I was just looking at your hair," he replied. "It looks very nice like that."

She smiled. "Thank you," she replied, neatly side-stepping Bill and Ginny. "Ginny'll be glad to know that you appreciate her handiwork."

"You look very beautiful, Hermione," he said softly, looking straight at her. She felt the familiar warmth of a blush rush to her cheeks, but this time the heat spread throughout her body, filling her with a sensation of immense pleasure. "Thank you, Charlie," she murmured, not breaking eye contact with him.

He continued to look deeply into her eyes, and they drew closer together; no longer dancing, but still holding each other. She didn't care that she had a boyfriend already. He didn't care that his big brother and little sister were in the same room, watching them. She wasn't thinking about Ginny's words – that a little flirting wouldn't hurt as long as it went no further than that. He knew nothing other than the fact that he wanted to kiss her desperately, and she felt the same. Neither cared for the consequences: they were both living firmly in the present.

She tilted her head slightly to the left; he inclined his to the right. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation, and he leaned down.

"Sweet Merlin, you guys have all the fun!" George burst into the flat. "Dancing around with such beautiful women – and you're even married, Bill! Honestly!" He shook his head in mock-disgust.

Hermione and Charlie sprang apart as quickly as if they'd been blasted apart by a jinx. They both reddened guiltily, although George, Bill and Ginny had not appeared to notice what was going on. They were laughing and joking together – something about Harry and Ginny's dress, and Ginny was threatening to hex George. Then Bill said something about Fleur and Gabrielle, and there was something about a Pygmy Puff thrown in as well, but Hermione didn't quite catch what. It was evidently funny though, because they were all laughing – even Charlie – so she laughed too, so that she wouldn't look weird. Only she did end up looking weird, because her laugh sounded fake and forced to her own ears, and Ginny and George both gave her a strange look. She didn't notice Charlie's ears reddening, or Bill glancing suspiciously at him over the top of her head.

Fortunately for her, Percy chose that moment to burst through the door, saying, "Oh, I'm sorry – I do hope I'm not late!" in his usual pompous manner as he did so.

"Nah, Perce – we couldn't possibly start the party without you!" Bill replied, seriously. It took Percy a moment or two to realise that he was being teased, but he laughed gamely along with everyone else when it dawned on him. The boys left soon afterwards, off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, leaving Hermione alone with Ginny.

She made a big show of gathering things to put in her clutch bag – tissues, lip gloss, a pair of flats that she had shrunk to fit in her bag, in case her heels became too painful – but Ginny wasn't fooled.

"Oi, missy!" she said, summoning the small black bag from her friend's hands, effectively removing her distraction. "What in Merlin's name is going on with you and Charlie?"

"Um . . . nothing?" Hermione said squeakily (although it sounded more like a question, than an answer), carefully rearranging the furniture to avoid looking at Ginny.

"Oh, please!" Ginny scoffed, helping her to move the coffee table. "If it was nothing, you'd be doing this-" she gestured to the furniture, half of which was back in its original place, whilst the other half was still pressed up against the walls, "-by magic, instead of by hand. You're avoiding looking me, and you've been wearing a perma-blush ever since Charlie asked you to dance. I thought you just said you flirted with him a bit, and that was it?"

"Oh, God, Ginny! I don't know what's going on!" Hermione wailed, collapsing in an armchair, and pressing her hands to her face, deciding that avoiding the subject would not help her any longer. "I'm so confused! I just nearly accidentally without meaning to kissed him!"

Ginny couldn't help but smile at the look of utter horror on her friend's face. "Nearly accidentally without meaning to kissed him?" she asked in amusement. "How do you do _that_?"

"I don't know!" said Hermione, wringing her hands. "I mean, it's just been normal this week – nothing has happened . . . and I don't think I even flirted with him. And then he asked me to dance, and I just thought yeah, why not? And then we were dancing, and he had his hand really low down on my back and it felt all tingly and nice and then he smelt really nice, you know? And then we were just kind of leaning into each other and then we . . . we would've kissed if George hadn't come in, and that's such a bad thing and it's also a really good thing, and oh, Merlin, I'm so CONFUSED!"

Ginny blinked. "Hermione. I won't pretend to have understood any of that, and I probably don't want to, as I have my suspicions that it was about how sexy my brother is, and I think I'll end up vomiting if that conversation goes on for too long, _but_!" She paused dramatically. "You can't mess around Charlie or Ron. You've chosen Ron, so you can't kiss Charlie. Understood?"

Hermione nodded. "Oh, God! I look like such a slut!" she sighed.

"No you don't, sweetie," Ginny patted her shoulder. "No one else noticed. And Charlie'll forget about it soon enough. Honestly – he should know better, as well! Don't go round blaming yourself entirely – it takes two to tango, and all that . . ."

Hermione sighed again. "Look, 'Mione, just forget about it for now. Go and have a nice time at the ball with Ron, and in future, don't mess either of them around. They're boys – they wouldn't be able to cope with all the emotions. They'd explode, or something," Ginny continued.

"Mmm," said Hermione. "Oh, I feel so bad now!"

"Don't," advised Ginny. "I'm not going to tell Ron, and hopefully Charlie will get so drunk on his night out that he'll forget about it, or at least think he dreamed it."

Hermione nodded. "Oh, and don't mess my brothers around, but if you do, and need someone to come and talk to, come see me. They'd survive it, but you wouldn't," Ginny added.

"Hey!" replied Hermione. " Thanks for the vote of confidence! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look at yourself, Hermione," Ginny gestured towards her. "You're a mess and nothing's really going on. All you did was nearly kiss him, and you've worked yourself up about it so much. At least we know you'll never actually cheat on Ron." Hermione looked questioningly at her. "Well, you might, but you wouldn't survive afterwards. You'd be just too much of a disaster."

Hermione pulled a face. "Yeah, I guess," she replied. "Anyway, changing the subject entirely, we told Harry and Ron we'd meet them at quarter past, and it's half seven now. I think we've made them wait for long enough, don't you?"

"Well, we've effectively doubled their getting ready time," Ginny said.

"Huh?" asked Hermione.

"Come on," her friend replied. "You seriously think that they'd have started to get ready anytime before seven o'clock?"

Hermione laughed. "True," she said. "Come on. Let's go get 'em!"

* * *

"So. Bill. Boy or girl?" asked George, seriously, over their fourth – or was it fifth? – round of drinks.

"_Well_," said Bill, as if that was a story that would take some telling. "Fleur reckons it's a girl. But I say, look at our track record. One girl in seven generations. She's adamant, though. Every morning she tells me that we're going to have a girl, but come on. Not likely, is it?"

"You never know, though," said Percy. "I mean, what about Fleur's Veela genes? Are they supposed to have an effect?"

"The genes are only dominant if it's a girl," said Bill. "So if it's a boy, it'll have red hair, and if it's a girl, it'll have blonde hair, basically!" The others laughed. "But we don't really care what it is, as long as it's healthy and all. I know it's clichéd, and everyone says it, but it's true. We'll settle for either, as long as everything is OK."

"Thought of any names, yet?" asked Charlie.

"No first names, but if it's a girl, her middle name will be Gabrielle, and if it's a boy, his middle name will be Fred," Bill replied, looking at George. His brother's face became unreadable for a moment or two, then he gave a small smile.

"Does this mean that I can teach him how to pull really amazing pranks on you and Fleur?" he asked, hopefully.

"Yes, if you're prepared to face Fleur when she's angry," Bill replied, seriously.

"Better not then," said George hastily. "But seriously . . . I think that's a nice idea. Hah – I wonder how much Fred's ego would swell if he knew what you were planning?"

"It would probably grow exponentially, until it reached such huge proportions that it couldn't physically support itself anymore, and would then collapse in on itself" said Percy, to rather blank looks from the rest of his brothers. "To Fred!" he added, raising his glass.

"To Fred!" echoed his brothers, mimicking their brother's action.

They sat silently for a few moments, all thinking about Fred. "George?" asked Charlie, to break the awkward pause that had fallen.

"Yeah?" asked George, taking another mouthful of Firewiskey. "What is it?"

"What's all this about you and a certain young lady named Katie Bell?" Charlie asked innocently.

George said something that, had he repeated it in his mother's hearing, would have had him scrubbing at the inside of his mouth with a bar of soap for at least a week, if not a month. "George Weasley!" Bill exclaimed in mock horror. "Mum would NOT be impressed at your language!"

"Yeah, well wait 'til she learns who I heard it from. And how old I was when I heard it," he replied, looking pointedly at Bill.

"Ah, yes, well, that's another story for another time, isn't it?" Bill muttered.

"Yeah, never mind about that now, tell us about the ever-charming Ms. Bell," Charlie said.

"She's the blonde one, isn't she?" asked Percy. "Played Chaser on the Gryffindor team?"

"How do you know that?" asked Bill in astonishment.

"Well, she was at Hogwarts at the same time as me, just a few years below. She was the in the year below you, wasn't she?" Percy added, turning to George, who nodded.

"Hey fellas, I think _George _needs to be the one to tell this story," said Charlie, turning to his youngest brother present. "So, how did you end up going from team-mates to dating each other?"

"Well, it's kind of a long story," began George. "But it started about a year ago – actually, she ended up in my shop on the twenty third of September last year – not that I'm counting or anything!" he added hurriedly, as his brothers made various disbelieving sounds.

"Anyway, she'd just been let out of St. Mungos, and she'd just heard the news about Fred." There was a slight hitch in his voice as he said his twin's name, but other than that he carried on as normal. "She wanted to come and pay her respects and pass on her condolences and whatnot, and she'd brought some flowers and wanted to know where the grave was, so she could put them there," he said.

"Go on," urged Bill, as George paused to take a sip of his drink.

"So, anyway, I said I'd go with her, and we apparated to the grave and placed the flowers and everything, and I asked her how come she'd been in hospital for so long. And she said it was a long story, and I said, well, why don't we go and get a coffee, because we hadn't seen each other in ages, and also because it was raining buckets at the time," he continued.

"Your first date!" teased Charlie.

"Not exactly – at that stage I wasn't interested in her in _that_ way . . . although I did notice that she had very big . . . uh, never mind about that," George said quickly, to his brother's amusement. "Anyway, we got to the coffee shop and she told me about how she'd happened to be in St. Mungos since the final battle. Apparently, she got hit by some kind of dark curse, and it sent her into a really deep coma-like state. She was like that for about a month and a half, and then one morning she woke up as normal," he said.

"And she was OK?" asked Percy.

"Well, once what had gone on had been explained to her, she seemed to be fine," replied George. "They were all set to keep her in for a couple of days observation, and let her go if she was OK – they figured that the Death Eater who had cast the curse had died, and the curse had been broken with his death or something, 'cause I'm sure you all remember things like that going on, with all the rouge Death Eaters being rounded up, and some dying during fights. But yeah, at first she seemed to be fine, then weird things began to happen to her."

"What kind of weird things?" asked Bill, curiously.

"Well, randomly, she'd start having these shaking attacks," said George. "For no apparent reason, every few hours or so, her legs and arms would start to jerk around uncontrollably, and she wouldn't be able to speak or anything. A few times she even stopped breathing, 'cause they affected something in her breathing system . . . I'm not quite sure how. None of the healers had ever seen anything like it – 'cause the problem was, it wouldn't go away. No spells or potions or anything seemed to work. So of course, there was no way they were going to let her out – especially with the stopping breathing thing," he continued.

The Weasley brothers gave exclamations of shock and sympathy, but none were any closer to seeing how this ended up with George dating her.

"Then, one day in early September, one of the healers came to her and said that she had found out about a muggle disease called Parkinson's, which I can't remember much about except that one of the main symptoms is excessive, uncontrollable shaking, and that the muggles have some medication that they can take – I'm not sure if it's to prevent or cure it, but it helps to control the shaking – and they tried it on her, and it seemed to work – she only gets the seizures now two or three times a week, which sounds a lot, but at one point it was every two or three hours," he said.

"But what does that have to do with you dating her?" asked Charlie.

"Well, she told me all of this in the café, but she also said that she was now out of a job, because she had planned on playing Quidditch – she actually had a space with the Harpies, like Ginny – but she couldn't now, because the shaking would come on unexpectedly, and she didn't want it happening in the middle of a match, with people looking at her whilst it happened – she's very sensitive about that. So I said, why don't you come and work at the shop for a bit, at least until you can get a proper job, and she accepted the offer," George continued.

"And you've been carrying on in the store cupboard ever since?" teased Bill.

"Like I said, not at first. I thought I was just friends with her . . . but in March I re-met Angelina Johnson – another ex-Hogwarts student – through Ginny, and I realised that I was actually just friends with Angelina, and not with Katie," he replied. "So, I went back to the store ready to ask her out, and found her flat out on the floor, not breathing."

His brothers looked horrified, and he grimaced, remembering. "I took her to St. Mungos, and they were able to fix her – she'd only been out for about thirty seconds before I got to her. But I sort of knew, then, that I wasn't going to be able to survive, if she died . . . not after Fred. So I asked her to marry me," he said.

"You're engaged?!" exclaimed all of his brothers.

"Well . . . kinda. She said yes, but she said that she wanted to wait. That it would be too soon, after everything that had gone on, so we should wait for a year or two," George replied.

"But you will end up getting married?" asked Percy.

"Oh yes," replied George. "I'd prefer to wait, too – I mean, we weren't even going out before, so we've kinda got to do that bit now . . . but we will get married at some point. We were talking about doing it at Christmas actually – Christmas next year, not the one in a couple of months," he added quickly.

"She still working at your shop?" Bill asked.

"No. She didn't like it that much, because she thought that people stared at her when she would shake . . . she's very sensitive about it. She's working as a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ now," he replied.

"And the most important question of all . . . when are we going to meet her?" Charlie asked.

"Well . . . she came with me to Mum and Dad's at the weekend," George said. "And Dad told me that he'd organised this thing for Mum's birthday - going out somewhere nice, or something – and that she should come, too."

"What thing?" asked Bill, confused.

"Dad's organising something – I'm not entirely sure what, but he said that he'd let us know soon – that's going to be a surprise for Mum for her birthday. A sort of extended family thing. Anyway, he said to bring Katie, so I'm going to. You can all meet her then," he replied.

"Quite a story, that," Charlie mused. "You know, you two getting together and all that. What about you, Perce? How did you and Penelope end up together?"

"It's not nearly as interesting a story as George and Katie's," answered Percy. "We dated at Hogwarts, and then we broke up and lost touch for a bit. Then she was moved into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with me, back in January. We would just say hello when we saw each other, and it kind of went on from there. We'd talk more and more, then we ended up dating again. Just seemed to fit, you know? We're going to buy a flat together, in the New Year," he finished.

The brothers discussed Percy and Penelope's relationship for a little while longer, then George asked, "So, Charlie. Bill and Fleur have got a baby on the way; Katie and I are getting married at some point, and Percy's moving in with Penelope. What about you?"

"Er . . . what about me?" Charlie replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"You got a woman? Back in Romania, or anything?" George asked.

"No!" said Charlie, at the exact same time as Bill said, "Oh, she's not in Romania!"

"Thanks, mate!" Charlie said, glaring at his brother.

"Charlie has a woman?" Percy asked.

Charlie groaned. "No, I don't," he said, firmly.

"But Bill just said-" began George.

"He doesn't exactly have her, though, that's the problem," Bill said, in a conspiratorial tone to his two other brothers. "He fancies her, but she's taken. He can't have her, and it's driving him mad."

"Does anyone want another drink? This rounds on me," Charlie interjected, trying to get his brothers' attentions away from Bill.

"Who is she?" Percy asked Bill, ignoring Charlie.

"Ah, now that I cannot tell you. But she's very pretty. And very taken," Bill said.

"She married?" asked George.

"No, she's not married. Or even engaged. But, I've met her boyfriend. There's a chance she might break up with him . . . but they seem to be fairly in love," Bill said, conversationally.

"Do we know her boyfriend?" asked Percy.

"Hmm . . . " said Bill, in the manner of one considering a question deeply. "I believe that you may have met him on a couple of occasions, yes." His two youngest brothers frowned in concentration, trying to work out who Charlie's mysterious woman's boyfriend could be, so that they could, in turn, work out the identity of Charlie's mysterious woman. They then spent a very pleasant forty-five minutes guessing – their ideas ranging from the rather ridiculous to the downright insulting, but fortunately never correct.

* * *

"So," said Ron, taking great care not to step on Hermione as they waltzed together. "Harry's spending the night at Ginny's flat."

"That's nice," Hermione replied.

"Yeah. So. Umm. Do you . . . you know, want to spend the night at mine?" Ron asked Hermione's feet.

Hermione considered this. Ron had been exceptionally nice to her tonight (in fact, he had been very sweet and apologetic towards her ever since he learnt about her concussion – she hadn't told him about Charlie looking after her, though – which he had caused, however inadvertently). He had complimented her many times on her dress, her shoes, her hair – everything. He had taken care to do things like pull out her chair when they sat down to eat – unnecessary things, but things that were sweet, and showed that he cared. He had even not stepped on her feet once when they danced together. All things considered, he had been the sweetest, cutest, most loving and most caring towards her since they had started going out.

So it was only logical progression that they should spend the night together . . . wasn't it? Especially as it wasn't like it would be the first time they had done so (it wasn't like she had slept with him many times, but she wasn't completely inexperienced). Charlie would just assume that she was spending the night at Ginny's. And even if he knew that she was with Ron, he wouldn't care. They – Hermione and Ron - had been together for over a year now, and they were both consenting adults. It wasn't like it was shocking, or anything. Maybe it would be if you had promised not to have sex outside of marriage, but somehow she doubted that Charlie had done that.

What the hell was she thinking about Charlie for?! It wasn't his business whom she slept with! She could sleep with every guy on the over-crowded dance floor if she wanted to, and he wouldn't have any say over it! (Not that she was going to, though. She was a good girl at heart.) But why was Charlie even in her mind?

Because she had accidentally nearly kissed him, earlier. And because it had tingled where Charlie touched her, when they were dancing earlier, and, whereas Ron's hands felt pleasant, they didn't give her tingles.

But Ron was her boyfriend. And she loved him, not Charlie. And Ron had been so sweet to her, these past few weeks. He had brought her lunch she could eat everyday the past week (except Tuesday, because she had had to nip out during her lunch break to pick up some books, and to drop off some letters at the post office in Diagon Alley. But he had been suitably disappointed when she had informed him of this). And Ron was –

"Or maybe not, then?" Ron asked, sounding a little disappointed. She realised she hadn't said anything in response to his question.

Fixing a dazzling smile on her face, she said, "No, no, I would _love_ to come back to your place!" in a teasing voice. "Shall we get our cloaks?"

"I'll go and get them!" he responded, trying very hard not to sound overly-eager.

"Alright then – I'll just go and say good-bye to a few people," Hermione said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, and turning away.

"Isabelle!" she exclaimed, a few moments later. Her friend dragged her out onto the dance floor, where a popular song by The Weird Sisters was now playing.

"'Allo, 'Ermione! 'Aving a nice evening?" her French friend asked, wiggling her hips sexily, and drawing many admiring glances from surrounding males.

"Oh, lovely, thanks! Listen, I can't stop – I'm going to go now, but I just wanted to say goodbye, and that your dress looks absolutely lovely, and that I'll see you on Monday, when you can tell me everything!"

"Everyzing?" enquired Isabelle.

"Everything," repeated Hermione, firmly. "Everything about that charming young man with whom you keep dancing. Who I happen to know is called Dean Thomas, and he lives in the same block of flats as me. We went to school together, too."

Isabelle blushed slightly. "Dean? Zhat is a story and a 'alf," she said, raising her eyebrows. Both girls giggled.

"Now, I really must go. I think I'm going to have my own stories to tell you on Monday," she winked. "Say bye to Coralie for me – and tell her I want to steal her shoes at the earliest possible opportunity – they're gorgeous!"

She danced her way over to the edges of the room, and soon Isabelle was no longer visible, as she was swallowed by the crowd. She waved to a couple of other friends, and spotted Ginny and Harry in the entrance, and made her way over to them. "Hey, Hermione," said Ginny. "Having fun?"

"It's been alright," replied Hermione. The ball had been a benefit dance, open to the trainees of the Ministry of Magic, with the funds raised going to help build a new wing at St. Mungos. They were an annual event, with a different cause to fundraise for each year, but this was the first Hermione had attended (though she had been with Ron and Harry to the Christmas dance last year, but that was a more informal event). "I've had a good time – what about you two?"

"Meh – it was good, as far as these things go," said Ginny. "It was nice to see all the old people I knew from Hogwarts. Although I could have lived without re-meeting Zacharius Smith, to be totally honest."

Harry and Hermione laughed. "Anyway, we're off home now," Harry said. "You seen Ron anywhere?"

"He went to get our cloaks a few minutes ago – I'd have thought he'd be back here by now, actually," replied Hermione. "We were heading home, too."

"Well, we might as well go and find him," said Ginny, and the three headed off in the direction of the rooms where everyone's cloaks had been stored. They chatted amicably about the venue (a nice, fairly old building on Diagon Alley, with a dance floor above the ground floor restaurant, which was a popular venue for wizards needing a large-ish space to have a party) and the food (which they all agreed had been delicious) and soon arrived at the small cloakroom.

It was completely dark, so all three of them lit their wands, and Harry opened the door. His eyes grew wide, and he promptly shut the door again. Ginny and Hermione looked at him weirdly. "What is it?" asked his fiancé. "Big spider in the doorway, or something?"

"N-no, not a spider," Harry stuttered. "I . . . um . . . you know what? I feel like dancing again! Come on, Gin, Hermione!"

Ginny gave Hermione a sweet-Merlin-he-has-gone-completely-mad look, and Hermione returned it. Ginny made enquiries as to the state of Harry's mental health, as Hermione opened the door once more.

"NO! Hermione, DON'T!" Harry yelled, but it was too late.

Hermione held up her wand, and saw Ron, his back to the wall, snogging a brunette girl with huge boobs. She let out a small noise, halfway between a squeak and a whimper, and Ron looked up. The girl continued kissing his cheeks, neck and shoulders, murmuring incoherently. "Hermione!" he yelped. "This isn't what it looks like, I swear!"

But the damage had been done.

* * *

**Cue the start of possibly the longest A/N in history. You don't have to read it if you don't want to, K?**

**Firstly,**** Thank you very, very much to all of my reviewers. I know I've said it before, but you guys (and gals!) really do make my day, and I truly appreciate your feedback :) **

**Secondly,**** sorry about the wait – although I love to write, real life often gets in the way and I don't have time. I'll try not to make you wait as long for chapter seven (but I won't promise anything :S )**

**Thirdly,**** I pressed some buttons that I was previously unaware existed, and found out that 2 people have considered this worthy enough to put into C2 communities (it took me half a day to get over the shock!). However, much as I was flattered at this, they weren't people who had ever dropped me a review :( So, I would ask that in future, if anyone wants to add any of my fics to a C2, that they could review me, or at least send me a PM, telling me what they're adding to where, please? Just so I can keep track of what's where. Thank you.**

**Lordy. I told you it was long :S You didn't have to read it, is all I will say :P love you all x**


	7. Conversations

**DISCLAIMER: ****Don't own Harry Potter. Sob.**

**NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to **Burning-candlelight** because she leaves really nice reviews and she gave me a lovely dedication in her awesome story **2 weeks in Romania** (another Charlie/Hermione fic – check it out!!) :)**

**I don't want to sound like your Mum, but there is some bad language in this chapter (although nothing too bad) so if you're not old enough to be reading it, then don't, and if you do, don't complain to me, 'K?**

* * *

Bill, Charlie, Percy and George Weasley were sitting around their table in the Leaky Cauldron in various states of alcoholic stupor. Percy seemed to be dozing slightly on Charlie's shoulder, and Charlie was staring into the distance with a rather vague look on his face. "You know," began Bill, "if I come home in this state, Fleur is going to discember . . . dismemcer . . . dismemsber . . . kill me."

George, who, rather surprisingly, was most in control of his faculties out of all of them, chuckled slightly. "Do you mean dismember you?" he asked.

"That's the one," said Bill. "She'll definitely do that."

"We-ell . . ." said George, drawing out the word. "I have been working on a new product as part of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes-"

"If it's got alcohol in it, I don't want to know," Bill groaned.

"No, it's nothing like that," George said quickly. "It's a potion that you take that effectively gets rid of all the alcohol in your body – it sort of dissolves it; it doesn't hurt or anything – and it pretty much gets rid of the chance of having a hangover in the morning, too."

"How safe is it?" asked Bill.

"Ninety-five percent," replied George.

"What about the other five percent?" Bill asked suspiciously.

"It's not that it isn't safe; it's more the fact that occasionally it doesn't stop you getting a hangover the next day," George said.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Bill said. "Let's pay up and get those two back." He indicated Charlie and Percy, both of whom were now lightly dozing. They paid Tom, the barman, and woke Charlie, who was very receptive to their plan. George apparated back to his flat, and lit the fire, and Bill and Charlie helped Percy to floo over there.

George set out four small glasses on the table, and filled each one with a startlingly bright pink potion. His three brothers looked at it warily. "Are you _sure_ this is safe?" asked Charlie.

"Quite safe," replied George. "The only danger is that it might not work – it did that once with Lee – but that's it. Oh, and it tastes absolutely foul, 'cause sugar and other sweeteners make it worthless . . . but that's it."

His brothers still looked slightly apprehensive, so he sighed, rolled his eyes, and downed the mixture in one gulp. He pulled a face, but seemed otherwise to be fine. "See? I'm still alive!"

Charlie gulped down his glass, gagged slightly at the taste, and stood still for a moment. George looked at him nervously. "That is so much better," he said, walking over to an armchair and flopping down. "I mean, it's pretty awful tasting, but it really works!" He seemed to be much more alert than he had been a few moments ago, so Bill and Percy drank their potion, and joined in with Charlie's praise for it.

"Seriously, George, if you market this, you'll make even more Galleons! Especially if it really does leave you without a hangover in the morning – that's just genius!" said Bill.

"Well, I'm going to try to get it to work one hundred percent of the time," George replied. "And I might look into making it slightly nicer tasting. And then I'll have to go through all the rigmarole at the Ministry, to legalise it, and everything, which could take a while."

"Nah, just leave it with me," said Percy, who seemed much more chipper than he had a few moments ago. "When you're ready to start selling it, send all the papers down to me, and I'll have them signed off by all the right people on the same day."

"Merlin, Perce – you're going to break the rules?" gasped George, in mock-horror.

Charlie shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know whose example you're following, Percy, but it isn't a good one."

"It certainly isn't," replied Bill gravely. "Rules are there to be kept for people's safety, not to be broken on the whims of some irresponsible trouble-makers," he added, in a perfect impersonation of Percy's usual behaviour.

"Well, if that's the way you all feel, perhaps I won't, then!" replied Percy, with an indignant huff, but also a twinkle in his eye.

The brothers laughed, then Bill announced that he should be going home, and Charlie and Percy agreed, jumping up from their chairs. Bill had a handful of floo powder, and was just about to leave, when Ginny apparated into the flat, her arms around a struggling Hermione . . .

* * *

After Ron's plea, Hermione stared at him for a moment, motionless. Time seemed to stand still – Ginny and Harry were in the doorway, both looking at Ron with a combination of disgust, shock and slight confusion; Ron himself looked petrified and guilty, and the brunette slightly tipsy – and Hermione seemed unable to feel anything other than confusion. "Whoopsie!" giggled the brunette woman, and lurched out of the room. Ron and Hermione were left staring at each other, and Hermione still seemed unable to put her feelings into words.

Ginny tugged on Harry's sleeve to get his attention. "In about ten seconds from now, everything's going to come crashing down on her, and she's going to turn into an evil screeching Harpy,2 she murmured to her boyfriend. Harry nodded, remembering Hermione's reaction when Ron had returned in the middle of their Horcrux hunt. He did not doubt Ginny's words.

"So, what are we going to do?" he asked her, in a low tone.

"I am going to apparate with Hermione to George's flat – it's the closest by far – and try to get her to calm down. If necessary, I'll give her a calming drought or something, but she can't stay here with him," she indicated Ron, giving him a disgusted look. "She needs to talk to him, but not tonight. I can't condone what he's done, but she doesn't need to be doing time in Azkaban for murder, either, if you catch my drift."

Harry nodded again. "So what's my part in the plan, Captain?" he asked, only half-joking. Although he was used to sitting in the middle of Ron and Hermione's arguments (he sometimes felt like he had spent at least two thirds of his time at Hogwarts trying to act as a mediator between them), he rarely came down on the side of one over another. This time though, there was no choice in the matter – Ron had behaved appallingly towards Hermione, and he knew who's side he was going to take.

"I want you to keep Ron away from her. Body-bind him if you need to, I don't care; just don't let him near George's flat . . . or her flat for at least twenty-four hours. I'll come back to yours after I've got her sorted – Charlie's staying with her for a month or so – I told you didn't I? Yeah, thought so – so he'll be able to look after her for a bit. I'll see you soon," Ginny replied, kissing Harry on the cheek and walking over to Hermione.

Just as she got halfway there, Hermione seemed to snap out of her trance-like state, and fixed Ron with the most loathing gaze she could muster. She slapped him hard across the cheek, and he winced, rubbing it. "I really, really hate you," she said, simply. It would have been better if she had shouted. If she had screamed and shrieked and yelled obscenities at him, that would have been preferable. But this, this quiet, soft anger, was more terrifying than histrionics.

"Hermione," said Ginny, putting an arm around her friend. "Let's go. Come on."

Hermione shrugged off her arm. "I can't believe I was ever stupid enough to love you," she said, her voice cracking. She drew out her wand, her hand shaking slightly.

Quickly, Ginny put both her arms around her friend's waist, turning on the spot and apparating out of there before Hermione had a chance to realise what was going on. They arrived with a crack in the middle of George's flat.

"Let go of me!" Hermione shouted at Ginny, trying to pull her friend off her.

"Bit late for that, love," the other girl replied, stepping away from Hermione. The Weasley boys all looked at the two girls – one irate, her face flushed and angry, and her eyes pooled with tears, the other angry, too, but more worried – wondering what was going on.

"I am going to KILL HIM!" Hermione shrieked, her voice rising several octaves on the last two words.

"I know, 'Mione, I know," Ginny said, soothingly. "But why don't you just stay here for a bit and-"

"NO! Where is he? WHERE IS HE?" she began to turn on the spot, wand still grasped in her hand.

"_Expelliarmus_!" cried Ginny, and Hermione's wand flew out of her hand and into Ginny's. Hermione dived towards her friend, and Ginny threw the wand over to Charlie, whose Quidditch reflexes enabled him to catch it with ease.

"Ginny, what the hell is going on?" George asked, as Hermione ran towards Charlie, who threw the wand to Bill, on the other side of the room. Hermione changed course, and nearly ran into him, but the wand had already made its way over to Ginny, then on to Percy, and back to Charlie.

"Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!" Hermione yelled, as she played a slightly surreal game of piggy-in-the-middle with the Weasleys.

"Ron's got a bit on the side,"" replied Ginny. George looked confused. "He's seeing someone else. She walked in on them kissing. I need to get a calming draught down her – she's slightly hysterical."

"I gathered that," George replied, wincing in sympathy as Hermione tripped over the coffee table and landed with a crash on her backside.

Ginny saw her chance, and took it. "_Petrificalus totalus_!" she cried, and her friend fell over completely and gave her a look that would have had her six feet under, if looks could kill. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic, and using a hover charm to lift her into one of the armchairs. The only response was her friend's glare deepening.

Bill, Charlie and Percy looked on, confused; Percy's glasses slightly askew, and Bill clutching Hermione's wand.

"Ginny, what in the name of all that is holy is going on here?" asked Charlie, as George disappeared into the kitchen.

"At the party, Hermione, Harry and I went to get our cloaks, and we walked in on Ron and this . . . this woman snogging. Naturally, Hermione was a bit upset, so I needed to get her out of there before she did anything she'd regret. Also, I think she needs a calming draught. I brought her here because it's closest, and it's not exactly the first place that Ron's going to look for her," Ginny replied.

The boys still looked slightly confused, and were about to ask more questions, when Ginny's spell, which had not been very strong, wore off, and Hermione stood up and glared at them all.

"Thank you, Ginevra," she snarled. "I really needed everyone knowing my business!"

"Full names," whispered Bill, to Percy. "She really is mad!"

"Come on Hermione," Ginny said soothingly. "If you could just calm down a bit and-"

"CALM DOWN?!" repeated Hermione. "Need I remind you that I've just seen my boyfriend snogging some . . . some . . . some tarty woman, and you're telling me to calm down? How would you feel if this happened to you?"

"Well, I'm sure Ginny doesn't feel about Ron in that way," said Charlie, trying to make a joke out of the situation. At that very moment, he could quite easily have killed Ron, in the slowest, most painful way possible. He had come to the conclusion, earlier in the week, that if he couldn't have Hermione, he had to make sure she was as happy as possible with whomever she was dating at the time. As long as everything was going fine, he would stay out of it. However, the moment she became even remotely upset about something, he would pay the bloke who had upset her a visit, and he would –

"Oh, shut up Charlie! You're not funny!" Hermione snapped at him. He stopped smiling, and looked distinctly put out.

"I've got the calming draught," George said, coming in from the kitchen.

"I DO NOT NEED-" began Hermione, before stopping and taking a deep breath. "I do not need a calming draught," she finished, much more softly.

"Come on, 'Mione," wheedled Ginny. "Just a little bit won't hurt, and you'll feel so much better."

Hermione backed away from Ginny, who was advancing towards her with a bottle of potion and a determined look in her eyes, and crashed into the coffee table again, this time waking her head against it. She brought her had tentatively up to the back of her head, and said "Ouch," in a very small voice.

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny, dropping down on her knees beside her friend and hugging her, having decided that she would give up on the calming draught for now. "Are you OK, sweetie?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, and shook her head vigorously from side to side. Ginny hugged her friend and murmured soothing words, which only served to make Hermione cry harder.

After about five minutes, she removed her hands from her face and wiped away her tears (one good thing about magical make-up was that it was all waterproof, and _never_ ran), taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she tried to say normally, but her voice was growly and hoarse from too much crying.

"It's OK," soothed Ginny, rubbing her back.

"Well," Bill cleared his throat. "I say we go and kick his arse."

"Who's, Ron's?" asked Percy.

"Obviously," said George, rolling his eyes. "I'm in."

"Me, too," said Percy. "What about you, Charlie?"

"Oh, absolutely," Charlie replied. "Let's go, guys!"

"Not without me, you don't!" Ginny put in, standing up and pulling Hermione to her feet.

"Well, we're going to need a plan," said George. "You can help us with that."

Hermione wasn't sure whether they were joking or not. She suspected that they were, but you never knew with a Weasley . . . "Leave it, guys," she said. "It's OK. I'm OK."

"What, give up and miss out on all of the fun we had planned?" Bill pouted.

"Wait, we have a plan already? Why does no-one think to inform _me_ of new developments?" Percy asked, also pouting.

"Yeah, the plan goes like this: Ginny body binds Ron, and we take it in turns to kick his butt for making Hermione cry," said George, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Now really," said Hermione. "What would your mother say; if she knew about the way I was encouraging such sibling hatred?"

"She would say, 'Why is Hermione doing such a terrible thing?', and we would explain what Ron had done to you. Then she would say 'Out of my way! _I'm_ going to be first in line to kick his arse'!" replied Charlie. Hermione gave a watery smile.

"Now, you know your mother would never say 'arse'," she replied, but Charlie wasn't paying any attention to what she was saying.

"Look, look! A smile!" he crowed. "I got her to smile again!" Hermione tried to put her face straight, but the corners of her lips started to twitch. "Oh – there she goes again!" he cried, and Hermione laughed.

"Alright, alright, I'm smiling," she said, as the others laughed at Charlie's victory dance around the chaise lounge. "Look, no one is going to kicking Ron's butt except me, OK?"

The Weasleys pretended to look miserable, and Hermione laughed again. "I'm going to go home now. I'm sorry if I . . . you know, ruined your evening with my hysterics, or anything."

The boys protested, saying it was fine, she hadn't ruined anything and that they were about to go home anyway, when she had arrived, and she began to feel slightly less guilty. Ginny hugged her friend goodbye. "Do you want me to come back with you?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine," Hermione replied. Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Well, no, I'm not fine, but I at least feel a bit better than I did half an hour ago. And anyway, you have a match on Sunday. You need to stay fit for that – you know, get plenty of sleep and don't spend your time fussing over me." Ginny protested a little further, but Hermione insisted that she would be alright, and, collecting her wand from Bill, she flooed her flat.

"Will she be OK?" Charlie asked Ginny, concerned.

Ginny sighed. "Yeah. She'll get over him eventually, I reckon. I don't think that they were ever serious enough to end up getting married . . . I just thought that they'd end up drifting apart, you know? I never thought that something like _this_ would happen . . ."

"Me either," said George. "I mean, Ron can be irritating sometimes, and he can be a bit selfish and he _never_ thinks before he speaks, but I never thought he could be such a . . ." he drifted off, searching for the right word.

"Total bastard?" Charlie supplied.

"Well, yeah. He can be petty and sometimes a bit spiteful, but I'd never have thought that he'd just come out and do something quite so completely arsehole-ish. I mean, _Jesus_. It's pretty despicable," George continued.

"Maybe there's an explanation," said Percy, although the doubt was evident in his voice. "I mean, we all do stuff we're not proud of – really stupid stuff. Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to judge. We all have our regrets . . ."

The others understood that they weren't just talking about Ron anymore. "Yeah, Perce, perhaps you're right," said Ginny, coming to stand next to her brother. "Some people do stupid stuff. But it takes something to admit that you were stupid. To say you're sorry, and to try to make amends. Who knows if Ron'll be able to do that? If he'll be brave enough . . . like some people are." The others also understood Percy's need to spend a few moments frantically polishing and fiddling with his glasses.

"Thanks, Ginny," he murmured, looking at the floor.

"Well, I'd better be going!" said Bill. He said his goodbyes and flooed back to Shell Cottage, and then Percy did the same, going back to his own flat. Ginny hugged her remaining brothers, and took a handful of floo powder. Just before she tossed it into the fire, she turned and looked back.

"Charlie," she said, looking straight at him. "You will take care of Hermione, won't you? You'll . . . you will be able to look after her OK?"

Charlie opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, he said, "Yes, Gin. I'll look after Hermione. I'll . . . yeah; I'll take care of her. And anyway," he added, his voice much lighter in tone, "I wrestle dragons for a living, as you guys are so fond of telling me. How hard can one Hermione be?"

Ginny just laughed. "Watch and learn, Char, watch and learn. What's that phrase? Oh yeah: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. For the next few days, anything male and still breathing near her is going to piss her off pretty badly. I'd watch out, if I were you!" And, with a wink and a smile, she was gone.

"So, I guess I'll be going then," Charlie said, waiting for a "Goodbye!" or a "See ya!" or even a "Good luck!" from his brother.

Instead he got, "Hermione."

Charlie gave George a look that said you really have lost it, haven't you? "Umm, no, George. I'm Charlie."

"Oh, ha ha," replied his brother. "I'm saying: Hermione. We never guessed her, earlier. It's Hermione. Your mystery woman."

"Don't be absurd," said Charlie, and he might just have pulled it off, too, if the tips of his ears hadn't gone red. _Goddamn Weasley blushing_.

"Oho, it _is_!" cried George. "That was just a shot in the dark, but by George, I think he's cracked it!" he added, his voice every inch the English gentleman.

"Don't worry, Spellotape's meant to fix everything," Charlie said, sounding both jocular and slightly panicky at the same time.

"Now I _really_ know it's her – you've resorted to terrible jokes – and that one was a _stinker_," George replied, frowning slightly. "Bloody hell, Charlie. She's seven years younger than you. She's going out with your kid brother. Or she was, at any rate. I mean, I know siblings should share, but that's a bit much, don't'cha think?"

"You think I haven't told myself all this already?" Charlie asked aggressively. "You have _no_ idea, none at all – so just shut the hell up and-"

"OK, alright," George said, holding up his hands. "Calm down. I won't say anything. It just surprised me, that's all. Hermione as your mystery woman. I didn't think she was your type, that's all."

"Hmpf," said Charlie. "Yeah, well. It's not like I'm gonna have a chance with her, is it?"

"You never know," replied George. "After all, she might get horrendously drunk one day and kind of fall over you and accidentally have sex with you, or something."

"Yeah . . . or something," Charlie said, wondering whether all the products George had tested for the shop on himself had finally managed to addle his brain somehow. "Anyway, I have to go."

He took a big handful of floo powder, and as he stepped into the fireplace, he could hear his brother singing. "Charlie and Hermione, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a golden carriage!" _Honestly_. He was so immature.

* * *

Fairly early the next morning, Hermione got up, going to wash her hair. She hadn't slept very well, although this was hardly surprising, and she knew that, it being seven forty-five now, she was unlikely to get back off to sleep again.

Her hair had been filled with potions the night before, something she only ever really bothered with when she wanted to look nice for parties and things, as it took such a long time, and the products were really expensive. She couldn't afford to do it everyday. Actually, why had she bothered to dress up nicely, and do fancy things with her hair? It wasn't like it was worth it – she'd managed to start the evening with a boyfriend, and end it without. That was the last time she bothered to look pretty, then!

Urgh – the potions made her hair feel disgusting. She'd washed it twice already, and it still wasn't back to how it usually felt. She opened the shampoo bottle for a third time, but only a tiny smidgen came out. Grr. She hated the manufacturers of her shampoo, who hadn't thought to make it come in bigger bottles. She hated Ginny, for making her dress up in the first place, and filling her hair with stupid potions (even though she'd asked her to). She hated Ginny for having a good relationship – for being engaged, even, when she, Hermione, was boyfriend-less (although she wouldn't want her to break up with Harry, she supposed).

Harry. She hated Harry for trying to distract her attention from Ron, when he was snogging that woman last night (although she loved him for trying to look after her, and not upset her). She _hated_ that woman, whoever she was. What had she got that Hermione hadn't? (Apart from gorgeous hair that was probably _never_ frizzy, boobs the size of beach balls and a flawless complexion . . .)

She hated Charlie, for being so nice to her last night (but she hated herself more, for being such a bitch to him, until he had eventually just gone to his room, hurt). She hated Bill and Percy and George for seeing her in the state she had been in last night, teary and snotty and hysterical (then again, she hated herself more for not being able to control herself, and acting like a five year old who didn't get what she wanted).

She loved Molly, who had given her a delicious, huge chocolate cake the other day – just what she needed right now (though Molly probably loathed her right now, given that she had just broken up with her son and everything).

Hermione finally finished washing her hair, and stepped out of the shower. She sighed. She wasn't even going to _start_ thinking about Ron. Life really sucked, sometimes. Pulling on an old, baggy T-Shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms, she left her hair as it was – what was the point in trying to look good when she didn't have anyone to impress? – and went in search of breakfast.

On the way to the kitchen, she saw Charlie, standing in the doorway of his room and looking distinctly unwell. "Charlie?" she asked, concerned. "Are you OK?"

He coughed, and gave her a wan smile. "I think I've got this flu thing that's going round at work," he replied, his voice hoarse and stuffed-up sounding. He was shivering violently, but when Hermione put a hand on his face, he felt ridiculously warm. "I was wondering if you have another duvet I could borrow?" he asked, stammering on every word, he was shivering so hard.

"Of course I do – look, you go straight back to bed, where you belong, and I'll bring you some more blankets and some Pepper-Up potion, alright?" Hermione replied. She felt incredibly guilty – she was so worked up in her own troubles, she hadn't noticed that Charlie was ill. Hurriedly, she turned up the heat in the small flat with her wand, and gathered up some extra blankets. Luckily, she had a new bottle of Pepper-Up potion in her medicine cabinet, and she also picked up a sleeping draught for good measure.

She entered Charlie's room, and gave him the blankets, helping to arrange them on his bed. She poured out a measure of Pepper-Up into a glass and handed it to him. "Thanks, Hermione," he croaked, drinking it gratefully.

"Are you going to be OK?" she asked. "Do you want me to fetch your Mum – or take you to St. Mungo's or anything?"

"Nah – I'll be alright soon, having had that," he replied. "I always run really high temperatures when I'm ill – Mum always used to say I wouldn't get a cold if I could get flu. And I'm always OK after about twelve hours or so."

Hermione handed him a glass of water. "Drink," she said, firmly. "You need to keep your fluids up; else you'll really be in trouble. Did you get much sleep last night?"

"Not really," said Charlie. "Probably only a couple of hours."

"Then have some of this sleeping draught – it'll make things easier for you. You need plenty of sleep," Hermione responded, pouring out a measure into a cup and handing it to him.

"Thanks, 'Mione," he said, taking it. "You're just like Mum – mother henning people."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You need mother henning," she said. "Anyway, I'm really sorry I was such a bitch to you last night – it won't have helped. I didn't mean to take things out on you."

"It's OK," said Charlie, his eyes starting to close. "'M fine. You didn't make me ill. 'M going to go to sleep now . . ." Charlie drifted off, and Hermione left his room, pausing to tuck the blankets in around him. Charlie was so much sweeter than his little brother.

* * *

Hermione spent the day doing housework, slipping out at about two o'clock to get some groceries, and doing the odd bit of work for her degree. Knowing that many of their students would spend the weekend partying and recovering from partying, the Professors hadn't bothered to set any homework, but Hermione was of the opinion that you could never, ever read enough books on a subject, so she still had plenty to do. And reading provided more of a distraction from the topic of Ron than, say, cleaning the bathroom did.

At about four pm, she went to check on Charlie. He was just stirring as she walked in. "Hey, sleepyhead. You feeling any better?" she asked.

Charlie yawned. "Much better than before," he said, smiling up at her. She couldn't help noticing how cute he looked, with his red hair sticking up in tufts and that sleepy smile on his face. She forced herself to stop thinking about him like that.

"So . . . do you want a drink?" she asked, watching as he threw off all of the blankets except one.

"Please," he croaked his voice still hoarse. She summoned a glass of water from the kitchen, and handed it to him. He drank it thirstily, and then looked slightly sheepish as his stomach growled loudly.

Hermione jumped up. "I'll go and get you something to eat," she said, glad of something to do. Charlie slept topless, and she was getting very distracted by his abs – and now really wasn't the time to be doing so. She heated a bowl of soup for him, trying to get a grip on her hormones, and, thankfully for her, by the time she re-entered his room, he had put a t-shirt on (though she could still see his very muscular arms . . .)

Charlie noticed Hermione checking out his body, and smirked. Hermione blushed. "I've brought you some soup," she said, handing the bowl to him.

"Mmm, tomato," Charlie replied. "My favourite," he added, looking straight at Hermione. She blushed, and started picking up the blankets off the floor. Bending down, she knocked a comb off the bedside table.

"I'll get it," they both said at the same time, reaching for it. Hermione picked it up and found herself eye-to-eye with Charlie. They were far too close, but neither of them backed away. Hermione was reminded of their almost-kiss last night, something she had forgotten about until now, with all the craziness that had been going on. She was sure Charlie was going to kiss her again . . . until he pulled back, going back to his soup. She felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, and instantly scolded herself. _Honestly, you only broke up with Ron last night! Talk about being on the rebound_ she thought to herself.

"You have beautiful eyes," said Charlie.

"I'm sorry?" she asked him, convinced she had heard wrong.

"I said, you have beautiful eyes," Charlie repeated.

"Oh, please!" she scoffed, embarrassed. "That's such a non-compliment. People say that just 'cause there's nothing else nice to concentrate on!" Instantly, she regretted her words. Charlie was only trying to be nice, after all. "But, um, thanks anyway," she finished, lamely.

Charlie smiled. "It's true. You have the longest eyelashes I've ever seen."

"Longest . . . _eyelashes_?" Hermione asked, convinced she had heard him wrong.

"Yeah. You do," said Charlie. "And you have really nice hands, too."

"What is this, the campaign for the celebration of often-unnoticed body parts?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, something like that," replied Charlie.

"Well, in that case," said Hermione, sitting down on the end of his bed. "Charlie Weasley, you have gorgeous knees."

Charlie snorted. "Hermione, your nostrils really turn me on," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm beginning to develop a fetish for your earlobes," Hermione confined.

"It's OK, love," he replied. "Many other women have told me the same thing. And I really do have a disturbing fetish for your toenails."

Hermione couldn't believe how brazenly flirty she was being. It was so unlike her – and, at the same time, so much fun. "Charlie, I'm in love with your . . . your . . . oh, I can't think of anything!" she pouted.

"That's alright. You're just in love with all of me. I can cope with that," he said, grinning at her, before coughing madly. Hermione winced at the sound.

"That's sounds terrible," she said, pouring him another cupful of Pepper-Up potion. "Here, drink some of this."

"I don't really need-"

"Drink it!"

Charlie drank it. Hermione giggled. "What's so funny?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You, with steam coming out of your ears," she replied.

Charlie glowered at her. "If you make one single redhead temper mark, I will kill you," he said. Hermione pretended to look scared.

"You know," she said, after a few minutes pause, "when I was ill as a kid, there was one thing I was allowed to do as a treat that I wasn't allowed to do at any other time, and it always used to make me feel better."

"What was that?" asked Charlie. Hermione didn't reply, but summoned a rather battered looking cardboard box into the room.

"This has got all the stuff in from my parent's house – undetectable extension charm," she added, at Charlie's questioning look. "Now, if I can just get what I'm looking for . . ." She rooted around in the box, waving her wand to reveal hidden layers. "Here, hold these," she said, handing Charlie a Monopoly game, a set of Enid Blyton books, _Trivial Pursuit, Deluxe Edition_ and a photo album.

"Hey, muggles have Trivial Pursuit, too! Were you any good at it? Can I look at your baby photos? What's Monopoly? And who's Enid Blyton?" Charlie asked, sifting through the items he had been handed.

"I was the champion at it in our household; no, you can't; a board game; and a muggle children's author from the fifties and sixties," Hermione replied. "Anyway, those weren't what I was looking for: this is!" She pulled something fairly big and rather heavy from inside the box.

"What's that?" asked Charlie, helping her to put the other objects back inside their container.

"It's a T.V.!" Hermione told him.

"A T.P.?" Charlie asked. "Isn't that a tent thing that people used to live in in the Stone Age and stuff?"

Hermione giggled. "No, silly, that's a tipi. This is a T._V_.," she replied.

"Oh?" said Charlie. "What's one of those?"

"A T.V. is like a . . . like a . . . it's like a theatre, in a small box. Kind of," said Hermione. "It's hard to explain. There are all sorts of programmes available on it," she continued. "There's the news, and documentaries on all sorts of subjects, and soaps – nothing to do with the thing you wash yourself with – they're meant to be realistic portrayals of everyday life. But they're a bit . . . overly dramatic. But yeah, you get loads of stuff on T.V. – loads of rubbish, but loads of really good stuff, too. And when I was ill, I was allowed to watch T.V. in my bedroom – that was the only time. The other times, I had to make do with watching it downstairs in the lounge."

Charlie looked at the box. It didn't look that impressive. It was fairly small in width, but bulky at the back, and it had a thin pointy thing, slightly bent, sticking out of the top. "Surely it runs on that muggle thing . . . what's it called? Electricity, that's the one. How're you going to make it work?" he asked, as Hermione set it down on the chest-of-drawers and fiddled about with the plug (he knew about plugs. You weren't Arthur Weasley's son without knowing about plugs).

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Hermione asked. "This block of flats is owned by a muggle landlord. There just happens to be a lot of wizards living here, who, like me, prefer to use magic all the time. But there is electricity available." She plugged the T.V. in and it clicked into life.

Sitting down on the end of Charlie's bed, she started to flick through the channels. "OK, then," she said, turning to him expectantly. "What do you want to watch?"

He watched as she flicked through the channels, then something caught his eye. "Hey, wait, go back to that," he said, and Hermione flicked backwards.

"This?" she asked. He nodded. "But Charlie, this is just the adverts!"

"Well, yeah, but keep it on anyway," he said, watching agog as adverts for bread, mouthwash, a blender, and Marks and Spencer's followed each other on to the screen.

Hermione looked at him. "What's so interesting about adverts?" she asked.

"All those things that muggles have . . . they're just so interesting," he said.

"What, like bread?" Hermione teased.

"Well, not the things themselves, it's the way they're sold. I just find it really fascinating," he replied. He looked slightly disappointed when the programme resumed, and Hermione flicked through the channels until she found some more adverts.

When these finished, the news resumed, and Hermione kept the channel on, much to Charlie's disappointment. "Hey!" he cried. "I want to watch the adverts!"

"Tough!" said Hermione, holding the remote control above her head as he dived towards it.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play, is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I must warn you, I fight dirty."

"Oh, please," scoffed Hermione. "You're nothing I can't handle." He swiped towards her again, but once more she lifted the remote above her head, so he couldn't reach it. He repeated his move, and she dodged again, but this time she fell back against the footboard of his bed, squished awkwardly. Charlie noticed this, and, with a gleam in his eye, started to tickle her feet.

Hermione wriggled uncomfortably – she was exceedingly ticklish, but also determined not to show any weakness. She tried to not even smile, as Charlie's hands reached her toes, but, eventually, she could hold in her giggles no longer. She shrieked with laughter as Charlie tickled her mercilessly. "Do you surrender?" he cried.

"No, never! I'm-AAH! STOP IT! STOP!" she squealed, giggling harder than ever. Charlie didn't relent, showing her no mercy.

"I warned you that I fight dirty," was all he had to say, as she tried to wriggle away. Suddenly he stopped, looking over at someone in the doorway, a mixture of guilt, anger and surprise on his face.

Hermione, lying on her back with her head pressed up against the footboard of the bed, and her legs bent at the knees, had a very good view of Ron, albeit an upside-down one. Flushing, she rolled over on to her stomach, and from there she scrambled - as elegantly as was possible – into a sitting position. She had more or less given up on retaining any dignity. "Yes?" she asked, coldly. "What do you want?"

"I came over to talk about last night," Ron replied. "I didn't realise you had . . . _company_," he added, with a slight sneer.

"Don't you start telling me who I can and can't-" began Hermione furiously, but Charlie interrupted her.

"Look, Ron. I am not 'company'," he said, making air quotes around the word. "I am your brother. I'm here because Hermione was kind enough to offer me a place to stay whilst I was in the country working for the new reserve in Wales. That's it. So don't take that tone with her – especially if you want her to ever speak to you again, given the show you put on last night!"

Ron had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Look, Hermione. Could I talk to you for a minute, please?"

"I suppose," Hermione said stiffly.

"Um . . . in private?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and stood up, walking out of Charlie's room and into the living room, where she took a seat. Ron followed her, meekly. He sat down opposite her, and opened his mouth. "Look, Hermione," he said, glancing at her. "I have some things to say to you . . . about last night and stuff . . . and I would really appreciate it if you could just hear me out . . . I don't care what you do after that, but I'd just like you to listen, OK?"

Hermione nodded mutely. She was embarrassed at being caught like that with Charlie, and angry with Ron that he made her feel slightly guilty about it – and that was before she even _started_ thinking about her feelings about what had gone on last night.

"Look, I know what you think happened last night," he said, holding up his hands as she opened her mouth angrily. "You promised!" he reminded her. "Just listen. Last night, you agreed to come home with me, and I went to fetch our cloaks. When I went to get them, a woman in the cloakroom pounced on me and started to kiss me. I assumed she'd mistaken me for her boyfriend or something, and I kind of . . . pushed her off me, but then she said that she'd been watching me all evening, and she really wanted to be with me. And I was all, 'Well, I already have a girlfriend' but she was a bit drunk . . . she kept trying to kiss me, but I was wriggling away, and then I think she must've hit me with a jinx or a charm or something, 'cause all of a sudden, she was all I could think of . . . and then you walked in, and it wore off pretty quickly."

"That," said Hermione, "is the most ridiculous story I've ever heard! You can't seriously expect me to believe that?"

Ron grimaced. "I thought you'd say that," he said, "so I brought this with me." He drew a small vial out of his pocket. "Truth telling potion, you know?"

"Yes, I do know," snapped Hermione. "I'm not stupid."

Ron drank it. "Do you want me to repeat the story?" he asked.

"Is it true?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes," Ron's reply was immediate.

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. So, it seemed Ron had a reasonable excuse for what he had done. She felt slightly mean about what she had said to him the other night . . .

"So, what's going on with you and Charlie?" he asked.

Actually, she didn't feel mean at all. She glared at him. "_Nothing_ is going on with me and Charlie, other than the fact that he is staying here whilst he has to be in this country. That's all," she replied.

"That's OK then," Ron said. Then, suddenly, he added, "Why do you always treat me like I'm stupid?" He slapped his hand over his mouth – evidently the potion was revealing more than he had bargained for.

"I don't . . . do I?" Hermione asked. Ron nodded. "Well, why do you not care about me?"

"I do!" Ron protested. "I'm just . . ."

"Not very good at showing it?" Hermione supplied. He nodded again.

"I don't think we should be going out anymore," he said, regretting the moment he had swallowed the potion.

Hermione looked hurt, then considered for a moment. "You know, Ron," she said. "I think that's the best idea you've had in ages."

Ron looked appalled. "It's only the potion talking!" he cried. "I don't really think-"

"Evidently, you _do_ really think that," said Hermione. "But I agree with you. Our problem is, we fight too much. I just don't think that we're suited as a couple."

"You don't?" asked Ron, sadly.

"No Ron. I'd like to stay friends with you, but I don't want to date you any more. There's just too much tension between us," Hermione replied. "And evidently, there are some women who are just _dying_ to get their hands on you!" she joked.

He gave a wan smile. "This has been coming on for a while, hasn't it?" he asked. Hermione nodded. "You know, I think it might be for the best. Can you _imagine_ how much we'd argue if we got married?"

Hermione gave a small chuckle. "Yeah . . . we'd be getting divorced the same day – if we could even agree on that!"

"Yeah . . ." Ron sighed.

Hermione came and sat down next to him. "Ron, I don't regret for a moment the time we had together – except possibly last night, but let's gloss over that for now! But I think it's time we realised what's been staring us in the face for a while now: that we're just not suited to a long term partnership. I say we give up now, whilst we still have good memories, and can still remain friends, rather than wait five years and become so bitter and twisted that we can't remember the good times," she said.

"You know, Hermione, you really are very clever," Ron said, giving her a hug. "I agree. Let's split up, but go back to being friends. I'd really miss that – being friends, I mean."

She returned his hug. "Friends it is, then," she replied.

"I'd better be going," he said, standing up. "Tell Charlie 'hi' from me, and that I'm sorry for earlier."

"I will," said Hermione. "Use the floo, if you want. Oh, and Ron – one more thing?" He turned and looked back at her. "Your Mum doesn't know that Charlie's staying here – she'd think it was really inappropriate, you know, for an unmarried couple to be living together." Ron nodded. "So, um, we'd both really appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything to her?"

"I won't" he promised. "But if he hurts you – I'm telling you now, I'll-"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ronald! Charlie's not going to do anything to hurt me – and anyway, don't the words pot, kettle and black mean anything to you?" Hermione replied.

Ron looked sheepish. "I guess," he said. "Anyway, I promise not to say anything to Mum. I'll . . . see you around, I guess."

"Yeah – I'll meet you and Harry for lunch on Monday?" she suggested.

"Cool," said Ron. "I'll see you then!" He stepped into the fire, and was gone in a whirl of flames.

Hermione sighed, feeling calmer than she had in ages. At least until Charlie said, "Just friends, huh?" and made her jump out of her skin.

"Merlin's pants, you scared me!" she gasped. "And do you have a habit of listening at doors?" She glared at him standing in the doorway of his room.

"Well, you did leave the door open," he pointed out. "And even shut . . . well, it's not exactly soundproof, is it?" he asked.

"I suppose," conceded Hermione.

"Anyway," Charlie continued. "Are you OK now?"

"I'm . . . I'm really good, thanks!" Hermione replied, smiling. "I just feel . . . good. I mean, I feel like the whole me and Ron going out thing was so expected . . . it was just so much pressure . . . and I've always loved Ron, but just not in that way . . . but everyone was like 'oh, you make such a cute couple!' that I just didn't think we could be anything else . . . am I making any sense?"

Charlie nodded. "I get you. You've finally realised that you don't have to do something just because people expect you to. You've got to look out for yourself, sometimes," he said seriously.

Hermione smiled. "Yes. That's it entirely. And I feel so . . . great! Like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders." There was a pause, then she added. "Anyway, how do you feel about dinner? I'll get it – you're ill."

"But you can't cook!" Charlie teased.

"I managed soup, didn't I?" Hermione responded. "Anyway, there's a pizza place about half a mile in that direction." She pointed left. "How'd you feel about cheese and tomato?"

"I feel very much like cheese and tomato," Charlie said.

"Good!" Hermione, grabbing a coat. "I'll go and get two, and meet you back here in twenty minutes or so!"

And she apparated away, feeling the best she had for ages.

* * *

**I don't know if that was to****o OOC of a reaction on Hermione's part . . . it was really hard to write! Let me know what you think – I was kinda inspired by the bits in GoF and DH where she rants and raves at Ron lol**

**BIG THANK YOU TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY REVIEWERS – YOU GUYS ****ROCK!**


	8. Attack!

**DISCLAIMER:**** Don't own Harry Potter **The rest of the weekend passed easily enough – Hermione and Charlie went to Shell Cottage for Sunday lunch, because "Fleur had accidentally brought a big chicken" according to Bill, when his head appeared in the fireplace, and that was nice, and Charlie recovered quickly from his illness.

They both went to work on Monday as usual, and from then onwards their days fell into a new pattern. Mornings were usually a mad rush of having breakfast, showering, finding books and papers dotted around the flat, and leaving for work. Charlie left later than Hermione, who tended to arrive at the Ministry at about 8:15 am, leaving her half an hour to go to visit her friends – Harry and Ron down in the Auror department; Mr Weasley in his office in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department; Percy, always at his desk and firing off important looking memos even though most people were still arriving and other ex-Hogwarts students who worked in the various departments – before heading off to her lecture hall at around 8:45.

The work she did during the day was hard, but most of it was interesting, and she had her two French friends – Isabelle and Coralie, whom she had grown quite close to – to talk to during breaks. At lunchtime, she generally ate with Harry and Ron; though occasionally she would head off to the massive library on the fifth floor of the Ministry (which contained over 23 miles of books) to do some research.

Afternoon classes were more interesting, as the students would debate issues and laws they were studying and criticise each others work. Depending on how nice (or eager to get away from them) the day's professor was, they would be let out sometime between three and four o'clock and Hermione would generally spend an hour or so in the library, checking out useful books for the day's topic.

She would get back to her flat before Charlie and make a start on her essays, before he arrived back, at around 5:30 pm. He would make a start on dinner and she would help – although her assistance usually came in the form of handing him various pots and pans, and peeling the odd vegetable. It somehow became a ritual, though, that she would always come in, and they would talk to each other, about anything and everything.

Charlie learnt about life at the Ministry; Hermione's early childhood, before going to Hogwarts; what her favourite subjects had been, and why; which of the Professors at the Ministry she liked and disliked and small things, like the fact that she loved chocolate, but didn't really care for sweets, that she had been scared of flying ever since she had seen Neville Longbottom fall off his broom in her first year, and that she could play the flute very well.

In turn, Hermione learnt similar small things about Charlie – that he was allergic to watermelon, but would occasionally eat it anyway because it tasted so nice; that when he was thirteen he had wanted to teach at Hogwarts because he had had a crush on the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher (a woman from Beauxbatons, on a year's exchange in the country); that he was originally keeper on the Gryffindor team, until he (and the team) realised that he would make a much, _much_ better seeker. She also learnt other, more important stuff about him – why he loved his job so much, about his friend Griff, who had been killed by a dragon in his first year as a keeper (one of the very few reasons why he _didn't_ love his job) and more about his childhood, growing up in the infamous Weasley clan.

They would continue talking through dinner, then clear up and spend a couple of hours writing essays and doing other paperwork; then, if necessary Charlie would quiz Hermione if she had a test the next day, or Hermione would sign forms from the Reserve.

Then they would go to bed, and get up and do the whole thing all over again.

Hermione liked routine, and having everyday laid out in the same way for her was not boring, but reassuring. She didn't cope well with change, even changes for the better, like her break-up with Ron. (It _was_ for the better, wasn't it? She was only twenty, but many of her friends were engaged already . . . and she had to put so much work into her degree, which she wouldn't complete for another three years, so she wasn't going to be able to start meeting new people until then. Perhaps she should have stayed with Ron, after all. Generally, he wasn't a bad person . . . just annoying, and slightly selfish, but he wasn't _evil_ or anything. But whenever she found herself thinking this, she reminded herself that she didn't necessarily _need_ a boyfriend – honestly, she was a grown woman, who had a brilliant reputation that had _nothing_ to do with whom she was or wasn't dating – and anyway, she and Ron were not really romantically compatible. If she had married him, she'd most likely have ended up hating him.)

Charlie always seemed to be able to tell when she was feeling down though, and was always on hand to cheer her up. It reminded her very much of the summer before her fourth year, which she had spent at The Burrow, for the Quidditch World Cup – the summer she had first met Charlie . . .

* * *

_Hermione shrieked as she watched Ginny propel herself off the swing in the garden and fly through the air, landing with a gentle thud on the ground. "Stop it!" she cried. "You'll hurt yourself!" _

"_No, I won't," Ginny replied, slightly bemused at her reaction. "It's fine – I've been doing it for years, and the worst thing that ever happened to me was when I grazed my elbows. You have a go," she encouraged. Hermione shook her head very firmly from side to side. "Oh, I forgot," Ginny said, sympathetically. "You don't like heights, do you?" _

"_Well, it's not heights as such," Hermione responded. "I'm just afraid of falling. I never used to be, but you heard what happened to Neville, in my first flying lesson at Hogwarts?" Ginny nodded. "Well . . . I'm afraid of that happening to me."_

"_I understand," said Ginny. "I used to be the same."_

"You_ used to be afraid of heights?" Hermione asked. She hadn't seen Ginny flying – this was only her second day at The Burrow, and she'd arrived the previous day after dinner, so the girls had spent the evening unpacking her stuff and talking – but she had heard her talk about it, and from her enthusiastic tales you would never guess that she had once been terrified of brooms._

_But her friend nodded. "Oh yes, I was absolutely petrified of them for a few months. It was just after I'd learnt to fly, and I was zooming round the garden on my own on one of the brooms. I'm still not sure what happened, but suddenly the broom was in an uncontrollable dive, and I slid right off the end. I must've fallen a good thirty feet. Fortunately, once I'd been to St Mungos, I was right as rain, but for at least three months after that I completely refused to get on a broom," she said._

"_But you fly now?" Hermione asked._

"_Oh yes, my brothers taught me. Bill and Charlie mostly – they'd just do five minutes or so a day, starting only about a foot off the ground to build up my confidence, and . . . well, now, you can't get me off the things!" Ginny replied. "So, if you wanted to learn, we could take things really slowly; you know, just flying a few feet off the ground, see how things go?" _

"_OK then," Hermione replied, before she could chicken out. The girls made their way down to the broom shed, where they met Ron. They explained the plan, and Ron agreed to help Hermione learn. _

"_Right," said Ginny, once they were in the open field to the back of the house. "Hold your hand above the broom and say 'UP!'. Remember to sound really confident."_

"_UP!" cried Hermione, and to her surprise the broom did fly up into her hand. "Oh!" she exclaimed, sounding hugely surprised. "I mean, that's good," she added, more nonchalantly._

_Ginny laughed. She and Ron ran through the basics on how to control a broom with her, and after about twenty minutes, Hermione was zooming round the field, at about three feet of the ground. Once she was confident at that height, Ginny suggested that they go higher, and then higher still. After an hour or so, Hermione was beginning to relax a little bit more. Ginny had given her a family broom, designed for an adult and a small child, or a learner, which wasn't very fast, but it was very smooth. She was able to turn it gently, and there were no jerky moments, so she felt much safer than she had the one time she had ridden a school broom, which had jerked about all over the place. _

_They were about thirty feet off the ground, but Hermione hardly noticed anymore, and occasionally she would climb higher still. Ron suggested a game of broom tag (which was, as the name suggested, exactly the same as muggle tag, but on a broom) and Hermione volunteered to be 'it'. She got Ginny, who in turn got Ron. Ron got Ginny back almost straight away, and then she got Hermione. There was quite a long gap, when Hermione struggled to catch either Ron or Ginny, but eventually she got Ginny again, who snuck up on Ron and caught him. Ron came zooming towards Hermione, much quicker than she expected, and she wasn't able to react fast enough. He bumped into her, and her broom went into a steep, uncontrollable dive. She slid so far forwards that eventually, about eight feet above the ground, she fell of the end of the broom, and landed on her back with a groan._

"_Bloody hell!" she heard a male voice exclaim, and felt footsteps pounding the ground, getting closer and closer._

"_Stupid _idiot_," agreed another, also male, voice. _

"_No-one flies like that," the first voice said. _

_The footsteps stopped, and Hermione opened her eyes. Above her were two very tall, red-headed figures, whom she hadn't seen before – obviously the legendary Bill and Charlie. But Ginny had said they were nice and friendly – not critical of people when they fell off their brooms!_

"_I am _not_ an idiot," she said, outrage in her voice. "And I can't help my bad flying – it was only the second time I've ever been on a broom!"_

"_Oh, we weren't talking about you," said the shorter, stockier of the two. _

"_It was Ron," said the other boy. "Ron's the one flying like that at a beginner; he's insane! No-one should do that. He is an idiot." He helped her to her feet. _

"_You can say that again," muttered Hermione, and the two boys – men, really – laughed._

"_Are you alright?" asked the first one, catching her as she staggered slightly._

_Hermione nodded, once she had regained her balance. "It wasn't that far to fall, I guess," she said. "I'm OK – just a bit bruised in the pride department. Oh dear, is that broom alright?" she added pointing to where it was impaled in the ground, like an enormous arrow._

_The taller one__ pulled it out of the ground, and studied it. "Don't worry, it's fine," he reassured her. _

"_Ahem," said the other one, nodding towards the sky. Ginny and Ron were about ten feet above them, Ron visibly cowering as Ginny laid into him. The three on the ground laughed. The youngest Weasleys eventually landed, and Ron made his way sheepishly over to her. "Sorry, Hermione," he muttered. "I forgot you weren't very good." He said bluntly. _

"_RON!" shouted Ginny, appalled. "That is NOT how you apologise to someone!" _

"_Sorry, sorry!" Ron said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry!"_

"_Honestly, Ron," said one of Ginny's brothers. "In order to make things up to the charming Miss Granger here, you can go and fetch us ALL some lemonade from the kitchen. And some of Mum's brownies too, if she'll let you have 'em!"_

_Ron sighed and trudged off resignedly. Ginny giggled at his evident displeasure, then turned to Hermione. "Are you OK?" she asked._

"_Yeah, I'm fine," Hermione replied._

"_What about the fear factor? Are you never getting on a broom again?" Ginny asked. She had spent the best part of an afternoon making sure that Hermione felt comfortable and relaxed on a broom, and would have been disappointed to see all her work go to waste. _

"_Mmm . . . I think I'll be alright with it," Hermione replied, considering. "I mean, I was going pretty well, until it happened . . . and I only fell off 'cause Ron crashed in to me. I think I'll be alright," she said._

"_Was that your first time on a broom?" the shorter one asked, slight amazement in his voice. _

"_Yes," replied Hermione. "Unless you count about three minutes on a broom in first year."_

"_Honestly, Char," said the other brother, rolling his eyes. "Not everyone lives for flying as much as you do!" Ginny laughed. "Anyway, Gin, aren't you going to introduce us to this lovely young lady?"_

"_Oh, right, yeah. Sorry," Ginny said. "Hermione, these are my brothers, Bill-" she pointed to the taller boy, with the earring and ponytail, "-and Charlie," she indicated the slightly shorter, stockier boy, who resembled Fred and George. "Guys, this is Hermione Granger, smartest witch at Hogwarts."_

_Hermione blushed pink, as the boys laughed. "Ginny, I'm _not_—" she began, but her friend cut across her._

"_Smartest witch at Hogwarts," she repeated. "And yet she's still friends with Ron! I don't know . . ." she said, shaking her head. _

"_OI!" yelled Ron, coming across the field. "I heard that!" The tray with the drinks wobbled dangerously, but Bill lazily summoned it from his brother before the glass' contents could spill, and everyone laughed good-naturedly. They sat under the shade of the big oak tree, sipping lemonade and eating Molly's delicious home-baked brownies. Bill and Charlie competed with each other with tales of their respective workplaces, to see who had the funniest story, the weirdest story, the scariest story and the most dangerous story, all of which seemed to involve copious amounts of alcohol. _

"_Oh, I forgot to mention," said Ron, after about forty-five minutes. "Mum wants us all – except you, Hermione, cause you're a guest – to de-gnome the garden."_

_There were general moans and groans, but everyone got to their feet and sauntered down to the garden, including Hermione. "How'd you de-gnome a garden?" she asked. _

"_How to de-gnome a garden? Well, now, let me see what Lockheart has to say on the subject," said Ginny, in a perfect imitation of Molly. The others laughed. _

"_Watch and learn, Hermione, watch and learn," said Charlie, winking at her. She sat on the wall, and watched as the four of them each picked up a gnome by it's ears and swung it round their heads, like a lasso. Suddenly, they let go, and the gnomes flew out of their grasps, flying over the fence and landing with soft thuds._

"_Pathetic," Charlie said to Ron, teasing._

"_You can't talk, Char," Bill said, coming to his brother's defence. "You throw like a girl!"_

"_Hey!" said Charlie and Ginny, together. All four of them turned to look at Hermione, who was still sitting on the wall, but with a shocked expression on her face, her mouth hanging open._

"_That's . . . that's _horrible_!" she said, appalled. "How can you do that to them? It's so cruel!" _

"_It doesn't hurt them, Hermione," Ron said, slightly amused. "They like it." Hermione looked disbelieving. _

"_Honestly, it's OK," Ginny reassured her. "They just get a bit disorientated. They'll be OK."_

"_Yeah," Charlie agreed. "The little buggers'll be climbing back through the fence later anyway, and we'll have to do all this again next week. They get their own back." _

_Hermione looked unconvinced. "Look, 'Mione," said Ginny, hurling a gnome over the fence. "Charlie says it's OK, so it must be. He did Care of Magical Creatures at N.E.W.T level, and got an 'O' in it. He's slightly more obsessed with animals than Hagrid is. If he thinks it's not harmful to them, then it really isn't. _

_Hermione was still unconvinced, but right then, a gnome crept up and bit her on the ankles, and she shrieked. "Right, that's it," she said, in a decisive tone. "I'll help." The others showed her how to throw the gnomes, but she was such a poor shot that she was more of a hindrance than a help and she was soon told, politely but firmly by the Weasley children, that she ought to give up, because she was making their job harder, so she went inside to help Mrs. Weasley instead._

* * *

_The next day, she and Ginny had flown up onto the roof of The Burrow, with a picnic, and were lazing about in the sun (or in the case of Ginny, in the shade from one of the many chimneys). Just after they had finished, they were joined by Bill and Charlie, and not longer after that, Ron and the twins. Percy had the day off from the Ministry, but he was busy working in his room, and didn't join them._

"_Hey, fellas," Fred said, after around half an hour, turning to George, Charlie and Bill with a gleam in his eye. "Don't'cha think it's time we introduced Ginny, Ron and Hermione here to that wonderful game of yours?"_

"_What game?" asked Charlie and Bill, but George had caught on._

"_Why, the wonderful game you two taught us," he said. "That involves courage—"_

"_And daring—" added Fred._

"_And fearless nerve—" put in George._

"_And—" began Fred._

"_Yeah, yeah, alright," said Ron. "Just tell us what it is."_

"_We shall go one better," said George. _

"_We shall _demonstrate_," his twin said. _

"_Is this going to be very safe?" Hermione whispered to Ginny._

"_Of course," said Charlie, overhearing and winking at her. "Bill and I invented it." Somehow, Hermione didn't feel very reassured. _

"_Ready, Fred?" asked George._

"_Ready, George," Fred replied. Hermione looked over to them. They had climbed to the highest part of the roof, and were holding their brooms above their heads. She wondered what they were going to do. "If you could?" Fred seemed to be addressing his brothers. Bill and Charlie waved their wands and all the picnic stuff disappeared. Then Bill took Hermione's hand, and took her over to the far left of the roof. Charlie did the same with Ron and Ginny._

"_Path's clear, guys," Charlie called. _

"_On three, then," said Fred. "One! Two! THREE!" Both boys started running at top speed down the slope of the roof. Hermione and Ginny screamed, certain they would fall – and indeed it seemed very likely. Ginny covered her mouth with her hands, and Ron made to go after them, but Charlie stopped him._

"_They're going to fall!" Hermione shrieked, and reached out, even though she knew she didn't have a chance of reaching them before they were gone. Bill pulled her back._

"_It's OK," he said, gently. "Look." Just as they reached the edge of the roof, both boys kicked with their feet, and flew into the air, they were still falling, but their brooms acted as a kind of magical parachute, so they ended up gliding gracefully down to the ground, landing in the big field a moment or two later. They cheered, whooped, and slapped each other high fives._

"_What d'ya think?" Bill asked, grinning._

_The three of them just blinked. "Obviously, it's not a game we play when Mum's about, but she's at Auntie Muriel's today, so we're OK. Do you like it?" Charlie asked. _

"_You're _insane_," said Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief. _

"_You really are," said Ron. "But can I have a go?" _

_After a little and a lot of persuasion respectively, Ginny and Hermione agreed to have a go. They watched Bill, then Charlie jump off the roof, and then Ron had a go. Ginny, sensing Hermione's nervousness, suggested that they go together for the first time. Standing on the highest apex of the roof of The Burrow, her left hand gripping a broom as tightly as she could, her right had clutching onto Ginny's left, Hermione couldn't help but wonder what she was letting herself in for. Where was her Gryffindor courage when she needed it? Where was her _brain_ when she needed it? _Why_ was she about to do this? "Ready?" Ginny asked, turning to her._

"_No!" her brain screamed. "Yes," her mouth squeaked. _

"_One," began Ginny._

_Her heart was racing a mile a minute. This was insane._

"_TWO!" cried Ginny, all her brothers joining in the countdown, too._

_Her hands were sweating so much, she was afraid they would simply slide off the broom. This was beyond insane._

"_THREE!" cried everyone._

_This was suicide. _

_She ran with Ginny, her one had gripping on to the broom for dear life, the other holding onto Ginny's like a lifeline, racing down the roof. She was going to die. She was. This was the stupidest thing ever. Both she and Ginny were screaming now, Ginny mostly out of exhilaration, Hermione mostly out of fear. Adrenalin coursed through her body. She wouldn't have been surprised if her life had started flashing before her eyes._

"_KICK!" a voice screamed in her ear, and right at the last second she remembered to kick off, hard, from the roof. This was it. She was airborne. Beside her, Ginny was still shrieking, and so was she, she noticed almost absently. She was still capable of making a noise then, at least. _

_She was falling . . . flying . . . falling. She could hear her heart beating, but this time with something else. She started to relax a little more – perhaps she wouldn't die, after all. And then her hand began to slip from the broom . . . but it was OK, because Ginny was holding on to her tightly, and they were only six feet off the ground, and then her feet were slamming into the ground, and her legs buckled, and she fell over, and she pulled Ginny down with her, and they were both laughing and screaming, and whooping and it was OVER. _

_She sat up, finally letting go of Ginny's hand. She took a few deep breaths, but still kept laughing slightly hysterically. "Oh, my God!" she gasped, looking at her friend, who was still flat on her back, chest heaving as she gulped in air. _

"_Oh, my God," agreed Ginny, a huge, relieved grin on her face._

"_We did it!" both girls squealed together, hugging each other and shrieking some more. "That was a million times scarier than the scariest rollercoaster!" said Hermione._

"_What's a rollercoaster?" asked Ginny, perplexed._

"_It's a muggle thing," said Hermione. "They strap you into this machine – it has seatbelts and harnesses and all sorts – then it takes you on a ride something like that, you know: a big steep drop. And sometimes they turn you upside down and stuff. But you're strapped in, so you can't fall out . . . and oh my God that was so much scarier!" _

_Both girls looked at each other. "Let's do it again!" they said, jumping to their feet and flying slowly and carefully back up to the roof. When it was their turn (because of the numbers of people verses the numbers of brooms – seven people, and five brooms that were safe enough to play the game with, they often had to wait, as Bill and Charlie insisted that a maximum of three people could go at once, with two spare brooms "just in case"), Hermione and Ginny first jumped together, then she jumped with Charlie, then she jumped with her own broom, and Fred and George either side of her, with their own brooms, ready to catch her if she fell (although they assured her that she wouldn't, and she didn't). _

_It was on her fourth go that things went very wrong for Hermione. __She was jumping two to a broom with Ron, who was a lot taller than her, meaning that she didn't have a very good grip on the broom itself, which was unfortunate. It was also very unfortunate that just as they flew past Percy's bedroom window, he opened it into the broom, to complain about the noise. In surprise at seeing his head hanging out of the window, Hermione let go of Ron's hand, and her fingers slipped off the broom. _

_Then, she really was screaming in fear, because she was falling through air with nothing to support her. Ron crashed to the ground awkwardly, but he had the broom to break his fall. She had nothing. Bill and Percy performed some kind of hover charm on her, which stopped her falling . . . but it wasn't holding very well. Sooner or later, she was going to crash to the ground, and she was going to break many bones in her body and give herself a concussion and – _

"_Climb aboard," said Charlie, helping her slide on to the broom. He landed it and she slid off, her grip on his shirt so tight that he was pulled down on top of her, too. She was crying in fear, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Hey, hey, it's OK," Charlie soothed, pulling her awkwardly around, so she was practically sitting on his lap. "It's alright, I've got you. You're safe," he continued, rubbing her back. "Everything's alright." _

_One by one, the other Weasley siblings appeared around her, all reassuring her, and Hermione calmed down and became aware that she was sitting on Charlie. She blushed and wriggled off his lap, thanking him for saving her. "It's no trouble," he said, flashing her a brilliant smile. _

_So, in the end, perhaps it _wasn't_ so unfortunate that she had slipped off the broom. Because if she hadn't, she probably wouldn't have spent a very enjoyable summer crushing on Charlie, a fact that Ginny picked up on and teased her mercilessly about._

* * *

"Hermione! Hello! _Hermione_!" Charlie's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"I . . . what?" she asked, somewhat startled. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," she apologised.

"I gathered that," Charlie said, with a good-natured grin. "I was saying, are you free on Friday?"

"Friday as in the one two days from now? The twenty sixth?" Hermione asked. Charlie nodded. "Mmm . . . yeah, I'm pretty sure. Nope, I'm not doing anything. Why?"

"We-ll," said Charlie, drawing out the word. "Mick – one of the guys from the reserve – is turning thirty on Friday. And he's having a party at the pub there. And he invited me along, and he said to bring someone, if I wanted. So, do you want to go?"

"To the pub?" Hermione asked, slightly stupidly.

"Yeah," Charlie answered.

"Mmm . . . OK," Hermione said, and Charlie smiled. "What sort of thing should I wear?"

"God, I don't know!" Charlie said. "I'm a bloke, I don't do clothes discussions. You'll need Ginny for that," he teased.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I just mean is it a sit down dinner, formal wear thing? Or—"

Charlie winked at her. "Oh, no. Something short and revealing'll probably be about right," he said, giving her a grin. Hermione could feel herself blushing again.

"Right . . . I . . . right, OK then," she stammered incoherently. _Why_ did Charlie have that effect on her?

"So you'll definitely come then?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'll come," she said.

"Good," said Charlie, giving her another wink. "You can be my date." Hermione was sure that her face had begun to resemble a tomato. With sunburn. _Extreme _sunburn. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get to bed – I've got to be at the reserve for half six tomorrow morning, 'cause we've got some Horntails being flown in. Goodnight!" he waved, and disappeared off into his room.

Hermione was left staring at the closed door, struggling to process what had just happened. He had said that she could be his date. (She was sure he had said that. She wasn't likely to have misheard – what else could it have been? "You can be my gate?" "You can be my Kate?" Hardly.) But what did that mean, exactly? Be his date? Was that a synonym for 'girlfriend'? Did it mean they were dating? Why did he keep winking at her? Why did she keep blushing? Why did she have so many questions? Where was Ginny when she needed her??

She sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Perhaps, for once in her life, she should be spontaneous. Just go with the flow, and see where it took her. After all, Charlie wasn't going to let anything bad happen to her. And she could always leave if she wanted to, it was no big deal. Yes, she would go with Charlie to the party. That only left her with the problem of what to wear. She flung open her wardrobe doors, and flipped through her clothes. She didn't really have anything suitable. Her wardrobe mainly consisted of work clothes – grey pencil skirts, smart black trousers, modest blouses, and pretty sweaters – and the stuff she wore at the weekends – jeans, old t-shirts, Weasley Christmas jumpers and the like. Behind these were the summer versions of her work and casual clothes. She had her dress that she had worn to the ball the other day, and some other clothes that she usually wore for parties and formal gatherings. She was able to pick out a silk silver blouse, and a pair of peep-toe heels that were the exact same shade, but she was at a loss as to what to wear on her legs. Her black velvet trousers, which she usually pulled out for occasions such as this, would look far too formal for the party.

Just when she was thinking of giving up, she found the perfect solution – the black sequinned skirt that Ginny had insisted she buy. She had never had a chance to wear it – indeed, the "Only 5 Galleons!" sale label was still attached, but it would look good with the blouse, and the hem landed just above the knee, so she didn't have to worry about having too much leg on display. Now, she just had to worry about what to do with her hair . . .

* * *

**Hey, 'Mione! Doing anything nice this weekend? ****Or just the usual fifteen essays? (I'm joking, of course!) – Isabelle x**

_Well, it's funny you should mention that. I'm going out tonight, in fact – Hermione_

**Tonight? Ooh, who with?? Tell me everything, else I will fall into a coma from boredom – Professor Copweld is SO uninteresting! –yawn–**

_Well . . . Merlin, this is so odd, when you write it down! Basically, you know Ron, of course (trainee Auror, we dated until last weekend)? Well, his older brother, Charlie is staying with me, in my spare room for a month or so, 'cause he needs to be in England for his job for a little while (long story, don't ask). ANYWAY, one of Charlie's friends from work is 30 today, so he's having a party at a pub tonight, and Charlie invited me along, as his "date"._

**I love how you put the word 'date' in speech marks. I also love how you blushed when you wrote that. You fancy him.**

_I DID NOT BLUSH!! AND I DO __NOT__ FANCY HIM!!_

**Um, you did so blush. I saw you. And . . . I think you do fancy him. If you didn't, you wouldn't protest so much. **

_**Hey guys! Coralie here! What've you been talking about? God, I'm so bored, any minute now I'm going to – ooooh, Hermione's going on a date!**_

**I know? Isn't it so cute? (And stop nicking the parchment. I have to learn all about him from Hermione, and I can't do that if you keep stealing the paper!)**

_Oh, for Merlin's sake, you two! I'm only going as a friend. I put the word 'date' in speech marks because he was __obviously__ only kidding around when he said it. It would just be too weird for us to do anything else – who goes out with their ex-boyfriend's brother? (But he does have a nice arse.) ((Oh, my Goodness, I can't believe I just wrote that. You two are never going to let me live that down!))_

**Nope. We're not. –sticks out tongue– So you're only going as friends . . . but do you want it to be more than just that?**

_**By the way, Hermione: it's not that rare for people to go out with their ex's siblings. My own mother did it – she dated my Uncle Jean, they split up and a couple of months later she started going out with my father. It was a bit weird at first, but once everyone got used to it, it was never really mentioned again. Sometimes you find the right man in a totally unexpected place.**_

_Well, thanks Coralie. I guess it does happen sometimes – just not for me. Charlie and I are just friends, who flirt a bit. Most of the time he's in Romania anyway, so it's not like we could have a proper relationship. __But I think that_

Hermione looked up from the note she was writing, hearing a loud bang and several screams coming from down the corridor. Professor Copweld broke off his lecture and marched over to the door, muttering about how inconsiderate some people were, when others were trying to teach. He yanked the door open, still irritable. "What in the name of Merlin—" he began, before a jet of red light was sent towards him by a hooded figure. Several people in the classroom – Hermione included – screamed. Another jet of red light was sent towards him, and Hermione sent a shield charm towards the door. She was not the only person to do so, and the strength of all of them combined made the door shimmer in a hazy sort of way.

The deep, booming voice of Kingsely Shaklebolt, ex-Auror, and now Minister for Magic entered the classroom, and, Hermione supposed, the rest of the Ministry, magically amplified. "All Ministry personnel: the Ministry is under attack. I repeat, the Ministry is under attack. Please evacuate as quickly as possible – trained Aurors are handling the situation."

From the bangs, shots and screams that she could hear, the trained Aurors did not appear to be handling the situation well. Fear flooded through her: Harry and Ron – were they OK? What about Mr. Weasley? And her other friends – people whom she had known at Hogwarts; other members of the Law Enforcement department, who always said hello; the tiny man who sold coffee on the fifth floor, and always remembered that she had milk and no sugar; the kindly librarian, who always helped her search for the correct books, if she couldn't find them – were they alright? In her panic, she almost missed what Professor Copweld was saying.

" . . . nearest exits, and stay at your houses until further notice. I should imagine that the emergency broadcasts on the Wizard's Wireless Network will kick in soon – stay tuned to that for further information. Now, go!"

The students piled out of the classroom, and Hermione stuffed all her papers and books into her satchel, which she slung across her body. Wand in hand, her two French friends by her side, she was the last to leave the classroom. "Go on, go on!" cried her teacher. "Go quickly down the corridor – I'll create a distraction as you go!"

Grabbing her two friends by their arms, the three of them hurtled down the corridor, but they were not quick enough. Two figures jumped out at them, and Hermione shot jinxes and hexes at them. She was pretty sure one of them was down – if she could only get to the other one . . . Hermione and Coralie both shot stunning spells at him at the exact same time, and the second man fell. "COME ON!" she screamed, but Coralie was bent over Isabelle.

"She's bleeding!" she cried, and, when Hermione bent down, she saw that there was a very nasty looking gash on the other girls head, seeping blood, and leaving her struggling for consciousness.

"Get her other side," she commanded Coralie, and, between them they carried the girl over to a fireplace. Hermione lit the fire with her wand, and handed a box to Coralie, containing floo powder. "Take her to St. Mungo's – they'll be able to sort her out," she said.

"Where are you going?" called Coralie, as Hermione was already halfway down the corridor.

"I've got to see if my friends are OK!" Hermione yelled back.

"But—"

"Just take her and get out of here! I'll be fine!" she cried, rounding the corner and seeing her Professor battling two hooded figures. She shot a jinx at one of them, then ran off round a corner before they could get her. She ran straight into a large shape, landing on the floor with an, "Oof!"

"Hermione?" asked a voice. She looked up.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, throwing her arms around her friend. "Thank goodness you're alright! What's going on? Is everyone OK? What's happening?"

He pulled her into an alcove. "Of course I'm OK, it's you I was worried about. Ron and I came straight up to find you, but he seems to have disappeared – I swear he was right behind me a minute ago," Harry looked behind him, worriedly.

"Come on, let's go and find him," said Hermione. Though she was no longer going out with Ron, they were still friends (apart from minor arguments . . .) and she didn't want anything to happen to him. "By the way, what the hell is going on?" she asked, as they jogged down the corridor, keeping their eyes peeled for any rouge attackers.

"I have absolutely no bloody clue," replied Harry. "We were in the middle of a lecture when some bloke ran in, yelled out that there was an attack on the Ministry, and that we all had to work to defend it. Quadgford – our professor – split us up into groups, but then the . . . people, whoever they are, attacked our room, so he never got to finish his plan, but the basic gist of it was don't let the bastards get the Ministry, and protect the weak and helpless."

"I certainly hope that you don't count _me_ in the category of weak and helpless!" said Hermione indignantly.

"Oh . . . er . . . no, of course not!" said Harry, unconvincingly, as Hermione glared at him. "Well, I certainly don't, but Ron might've, of course—"

"OI!" said a voice, and Ron's distinctive red hair appeared from round another corner. "You rescued her, then?" he asked Harry.

"I don't need rescuing!" said Hermione, still indignant.

"Never suggested that you did," Ron said affably. "Come on, we've got to find my Dad," he added, in a more serious tone, pressing a button on the magical lift. The doors opened, and he and Harry stepped inside.

"Wait!" cried Hermione, yanking them both out again. They stared at her confusedly. "I don't think it's a good idea, going into a lift when there are dangerous people on the loose. It's like in the muggle world – you're not supposed to get into a lift during a fire."

"We'll take the stairs, then," said Harry, speeding off in the direction of them, but Ron looked distressed.

"Dad's office is probably at least a mile in that direction, once you take into account all the stairs and things," he said. "It'll take us ages to get there!"

"You got a better idea?" Harry said.

"Apparate," said Ron. Harry gave him a why-didn't-I-think-of-that look, but Hermione shook her head.

"You can't apparate inside the Ministry building, it's like Hogwarts; there's too many wards and stuff up," she said.

"How'd you know that?" Ron asked.

"I read it somewhere," Hermione panted, as they started to jog down yet another corridor.

"Let me guess," said Ron, "_The Ministry: a History_."

"I don't think that book exists," said Hermione, hoping to keep Ron in his light-hearted mood, to stop him from worrying too much about his Dad.

"Well, you can be the first to write it, once we get out of this mess, it'll—ow! Harry! What'cha do _that_ for?" he yelped.

Harry had pulled them into an alcove, where a brightly lit fire was roaring away merrily. "We'll floo your Dad's office; it'll be much quicker," he said.

"You're a genius!" cried Ron.

"I try," said Harry modestly, as the three of them floo'd Arthur Weasley's office. Hermione was the last to step out of the fireplace, and she surveyed the room as she did so. The desk chair was knocked over, and a pile of what had once been, presumably, neatly stacked papers were scattered all over the floor.

"There's been a struggle," Ron said, his face white.

"Or your Dad just got up to quickly and had a bit of a clumsy moment," said Hermione, calmly. "Let's not count our chickens before they've hatched."

"You what?" asked Ron, as the three of them made for the door.

"Muggle saying, doesn't matter," said Hermione. Harry opened the door, and the three of them were presented with the sight of Mr. Weasley, Percy, and Percy's girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, battling at least six masked figures. "Just like old times," Hermione muttered, as the three of them dived into the fray.

She helped Penelope bring down one of the fighters, and together they put a full body-bind on him and Hermione added extra anti-apparation wards to him (or her; there was no way of telling) so he couldn't get away. Meanwhile, Percy and Ron had brought down a second; Mr. Weasley a third; and Harry a fourth. Hermione busied herself binding and securing them, as they were brought down, and not long after, all six attackers had been caught. She leaned against a wall, breathing heavily, and surveyed the others.

Mr. Weasley had his hands on his knees, evidently trying to get his breath back, and Ron had a slight gash on his cheek, but other than that they seemed to be alright. "What's going on?" panted Mr. Weasley. "I heard Kingsely's announcement, but who's attacking? What's happening?"

"Haven't the foggiest," said Ron, accepting a cloth off Penelope to press against his wound with a grateful smile. "Harry and I were hoping that one of you guys would be able to tell us?"

"I've got no idea," said Hermione. "Like you said," she indicated Mr. Weasley, "we heard the announcements in our classroom, and Professor Copweld told us to get out, basically. I helped a friend get another friend off to St. Mungo's 'cause she got hit by a curse, then I bumped into Harry."

"Penny and I were just filing some stuff when we heard the announcement," supplied Percy. "We didn't know what was happening, but we came to find Dad, to make sure he was OK. We were all just about to go and find you guys when we were attacked by that lot." He indicated the people on the floor.

Harry started towards them. "Well, there's one way of finding out who they are," he said, making to lift off the masks of one of the figures.

"HEY!" shrieked Penelope, pointing. "Up there!" she shot a curse at a hooded figure, a floor above them, hiding behind the stair banisters. He shot a curse at Mr. Weasley, but Harry pulled him out of the way, and Hermione shielded the pair of them with a charm. Ron attempted to jinx him, but he missed, and the figure shot a jet of bright yellow light towards Penelope. Seeing what was happening, Percy threw himself in front of her, and the jet hit him. He hit the ground with a horrible thud, not moving.

"NO!" cried Penelope and Ron at the same time. They both dropped to their knees beside him, frantic, as the hooded figure ran off. Mr. Weasley raced over to his son, shaking and calling to him. He pressed his fingers to his neck.

"He has a pulse, and he's still breathing," he said grimly, "but his pulse is very faint, and his breaths are too far apart. We have to get him to St. Mungo's." Hurriedly, Hermione conjured up a stretcher, and Harry and Ron helped slide Percy's body onto it.

Penelope stood beside it as it hovered magically, clutching on to one of his hands. "It's all my fault," she sobbed. "It was meant for me, he shouldn't have—"

"There, there," said Mr. Weasley awkwardly, putting an arm around the distraught girl. "It's not your fault at all, Percy'll be fine," he soothed, but it had little effect. He looked around helplessly.

Hermione took charge. "Harry, help Mr. Weasley get Percy to the hospital," she instructed. Penelope was slightly hysterical, and Ron was pale and fairly unresponsive. "Look after Ron, too. I'll go and tell everyone, get them to meet you at the hospital, alright?" she addressed Mr. Weasley.

"Yes, right, fine," he muttered distractedly, already jogging down the corridor in search of the nearest floo. Penelope, understanding what was going on, took her wand out and ran in front, determined not to let anything else happen to her boyfriend. Harry followed her lead, and Ron fell into step beside his father. Hermione ran back into Mr. Weasley's office, and floo'd The Burrow. She pulled herself out of the fireplace, and the first thing she saw was the magical clock. Percy's hand was pointing to "Mortal Peril"; Ron's, Harry's and Arthur's to "Hospital". At least they had made it there. Molly's was at "Home", so, she reasoned, she had no idea what was going on yet.

"Hello?" she called, into the empty kitchen. "It's Hermione – is anyone home?"

"Hello, dear," she heard Molly's friendly voice call back. "Come in, we're in the dining room!" She raced in, and stopped short when she saw Ginny sitting next to her mother, both of them wearing big smiles, which disappeared immediately when they saw Hermione's state.

"What happened to you?" gasped Ginny. Hermione caught a reflection of herself in the mirror. Her hair was frizzing wildly out of it's ponytail, her one blouse sleeve was ripped slightly and her other sleeve was covered in Isabelle's blood. She looked terrible.

"I'm fine," she said, dismissing their worries with a wave of the hand. "Listen, there's been an attack at the Ministry. No one knows what's going on, or who the attackers are or anything. We were fighting, a group of us . . . and Percy got hit by a curse – I don't know what it was. He's unconscious and . . . well, not in a very good shape," she gabbled. She had thought it would be better to tell them quickly, but she wasn't doing a very good job of explaining things. "The others are taking him to St. Mungo's – everyone else is fine, it's just . . ." She trailed off. Tears were pooling in Ginny's eyes, and she blinked, making them slide down her face.

Her mother put an arm around her. She was pale, and her mouth was thin, but she was strong. She wasn't going to break down – she would be there for her family when they needed her. "Right," she said. "Thank you for coming and telling us, Hermione. Are you sure you're OK?" Hermione nodded. "Good. I'll just go and put a few things in a bag for Percy, and then we'll head off for the hospital."

She hurried from the room. Ginny gave a sob and buried her face in her hands. "Hey, Gin," Hermione said, going to sit beside her friend and giving her a hug. "It's alright. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see, Percy'll pull through," she murmered.

"How do you know th-that, when you d-don't even kn-know what curse hit him?" Ginny sobbed.

"Because I just know it," Hermione said. "He _will_ be fine, OK? There's no doubt about it. Everything's going to be alright."

"You d-don't know that," said Ginny, still crying.

Hermione had no answer. No, she didn't know that he would be alright. She could hope, but she couldn't know anything for definite. In the end, she just hugged her friend until Molly came back into the kitchen, her eyes red but her demeanour fairly calm. Ginny took a deep breath and stopped crying. "We'll head off to St. Mungo's then," said Molly, taking her daughter's hand.

"Of course," said Hermione. "I'll let the others know, and join you there later?"

"Yes, of course," replied Molly.

"Oh, Hermione?" asked Ginny, as they were about to step into the fireplace.

"Yes?"

"Could you possibly send off an owl to the Quidditch people?" she asked. "I was supposed to be back there by six, but—"

"That's fine, I'll send one off right away," said Hermione. Ginny gave her a brief smile of thanks, and then floo'd the hospital.

She went to Shell Cottage next, and then to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and both of those meetings went better than she had thought. Bill was understandably upset, but Fleur was there for him, and she took charge. From their house, she floo'd George's flat, and came down to the shop just as he was closing up. Katie was there, and she promised George that she would tidy the shop and deposit the day's takings in Gringotts, and she told Hermione that she would get a message to Angelina to pass on about Ginny's family crisis.

All that was left was to tell Charlie. She apparated to his reserve, where she was met by a friendly witch at the reception desk. "Hello dear, how can I help you?" the woman asked, smiling. Her smile faded slightly when she saw Hermione's attire, and she began to look rather alarmed.

"Charlie!" Hermione cried. "I have to talk to Charlie!"

"Charlie?" repeated the woman, bemused.

"Charlie Weasley – do you know him?" Hermione asked, still frantic.

"Oh, of course, I know Charlie," said the woman. "You need to contact him, you say?" Hermione nodded vigorously. "Now, let me see . . . how can I contact him best?"

"Please hurry, it's an emergency!" begged Hermione.

"An emergency?" repeated the woman.

"Yes – his brother's been badly hurt, and—"

"Barbara, darling!" cried a voice, and a bunch of about five rowdy young men entered the building, having evidently just finished their day's work. "How are you this fine evening?" Barbara – who was in her sixties, by the look of her silvery hair – swatted them away.

"Not now, Ben. Have any of you seen Charlie? This young lady is looking for him; there's a bit of an emergency," she smiled apologetically at Hermione.

"Nope, but I could help you out, if you're having any trouble," another man said, with a leering grin in Hermione's direction. She glared back at him.

"That's enough," said a deep voice, and to Hermione's intense relief, Charlie appeared. "What's going on?"

"Oh, Charlie!" cried Hermione, running over to him and flinging her arms around him.

"Hey, hey! It's OK! What's going on?" he asked, leaning down and brushing a strand of hair out of Hermione's face.

"There was an attack at the Ministry today," Hermione said, looking up at Charlie. "No one really knows what's going on – but Percy . . . Percy was injured. He's in St. Mungo's now, and—"

"Hold on tight," Charlie said, cutting across her. She squeezed her arms tighter around his shoulders and felt the familiar sensation of apparition. When they arrived at St. Mungo's they were quickly directed to one of the wards, and rushed off. All the other Weasleys were in a waiting room off the ward that Percy was in, tense and anxious. Mr. Weasley filled them in when they got there – apparently the Healers were very concerned, as the spell was unknown to them, so they didn't know what effects it was going to have on Percy. They had worked quickly to stabilise him, and all they could do now was wait. They didn't know when (he refused to say 'if') he would wake up, and they didn't know what kind of state he would be in when he did.

Charlie took a seat, next to George near the door, and Hermione turned to go, thinking it would be "family only", but Charlie tugged her down next to him. "Don't go," he said, holding tightly onto her hand. So she stayed, fingers entwined in his, his head resting on her shoulder, and she waited.

The Weasleys just _couldn't_ lose another son . . .

**If you're confused, don't worry – it'll all be explained in the next chapter. Sorry (again!!) for the wait – I was going mad because of having to wait for my GCSE results, but I got them today, and I did better than I dared hope,**** so I was able to concentrate on this in the end :D :D :D Thanks again for all the reviews :D x**


	9. Aftermath

**DISCLAIMER:** **Aw, JKR didn't send me Harry Potter for my birthday :( although tbh, I was more interested in Charlie (if you hadn't noticed . . . :P )**

**100 reviews! Yay!! Thank you! :D**

* * *

At half past eight, three hours after Hermione had arrived at the hospital, Harry arrived. Ginny immediately went over to him and hugged him, and the pair of them sat down together, not saying a word. "Do you know . . . who's behind this?" Mr Weasley asked, his voice breaking the silence for the first time since Hermione and Charlie's arrival.

Harry sighed. "When I went back, the fight had finished, mostly. The attackers had all been caught; they've all been rounded up now," he said. "They were escaped Death Eaters from Azkaban," he continued painfully, looking at the floor.

There was a pause, as everyone digested this. "How . . . ?" ventured Bill, not wanting to finish his question. If the Death Eaters could escape from Azkaban, they might yet regroup, and find a new leader, a prospect so horrifying that Hermione could hardly bear to think about it. She felt Charlie stiffen, and he sat upright, untangling his fingers from her own.

Harry smiled without humour. "Good question," he said. "No one knows. Kingsley's demanding full enquiries; the top brass are going to be working round the clock until we know what happened. Basically, what we know at the moment is this: since the decision was made to not have Azkaban guarded by Dementors **(see a/n)**, a group of about five or six Aurors have been guarding the only exit. Everyone thought that that'd be safe enough – you all know about the security measures on the island: no apparition and everything – and these guys were the best we had. And anyway, when you go to Azkaban, you have your wand snapped, and the pieces get burnt. The prisoners were basically harmless."

"But . . ." said Ginny, indicating that Harry should go on.

"But evidently they weren't. They all somehow acquired wands, and those guys . . . the Auror's on duty . . . they didn't stand a chance. Six of them against forty-seven deranged criminals?" he made a small noise of disbelief and sadness. "Then they came straight to the Ministry – charmed some boats to get them to the mainland, and apparated straight to London. Their plan was to take over the Ministry, and the rest of the wizarding world from there. Fortunately, they didn't succeed," he continued.

"How did they get the wands?" George asked.

"No one knows," said Harry. "I think the whole of the Ministry will be asking themselves that question. I mean, obviously they had an insider to get them new wands, but no one knows who it was, or even where they got them from. They're checking through Olivander's records, but he swears blind that he hasn't sold forty seven wands to a single person – or even more than one to a person in the space of at least a year – but of course, they wouldn't be stupid enough to do that. If it was one person, they'll have used Polyjuice potion . . . and it's more than likely that they went abroad to get different wands. Who knows?"

"Who were the six guards?" Ron asked quietly.

"None that I recognised, except Sarah McGuiness," Harry replied. "You know, our young professor from last year?"

Ron nodded despondently, and let his head fall back against the wall. "I know," he said.

"Sarah McGuiness? Long black hair, and really tall? With an eyebrow piercing?" Charlie asked. Harry and Ron nodded.

"Did you know her?" asked Harry.

Charlie nodded, sadly. "Yeah, she was in my year at Hogwarts – in Ravenclaw, though. I didn't know her that well . . . but still . . ." He blinked rather rapidly, and Hermione put her hand on his arm.

There was a moment's pause, then Ginny asked, rather tentatively, "What happened? To Percy, I mean. What exactly . . . went on?"

"Well," began Mr. Weasley, shifting in his chair. "I was thinking about coming home – it was nearly five o'clock, after all. Well, it was around half four, actually, but it had been a long day." He gave a mirthless laugh. "Then I heard the Minister's voice, projected throughout the Ministry, I presume. Anyway, he was saying that we were under attack, trained Aurors were handling things, we should evacuate, the usual. I thought I'd go and help where I could, and I left the office, but I ran into two of them pretty much straight away, and started duelling them. It must only have been a minute or two later when Percy and Penelope arrived, but at the same time, four more Death Eaters arrived. Well, I thought we were goners, for sure – Percy and yourself," he nodded towards Penelope, "fought admirably, but I'm getting on a bit now; I'm not cut out for duelling, and we were outnumbered two to one. But then Ron, Harry and Hermione arrived."

"We'd gone to find Hermione," Ron said, continuing with the story, "and then we went off to find Dad. Once we'd arrived, we were all much more evenly matched, and we brought them all down, and Hermione and Penny did some fancy spell work that literally tied them in knots, so they couldn't escape."

"We thought it was all over," said Hermione. "At that point, apart from a minor cut on Ron's face, and the fact that we were all breathless, we hadn't had any injuries at all. The six Death Eaters had been captured, and we were pretty secluded, down in your department," she nodded towards Arthur.

"Then Penny spotted a Death Eater on the landing above us," Ron said. "She tried to curse him, but he moved. He aimed a curse at Dad, but Harry pulled him out of the way. Percy and I tried to get him, but neither of us was able to. Then—"

"Then he shot a curse at me," said Penelope, speaking up for the first time. "And before it could hit me, Percy jumped in front, and took the curse for me. So . . . so all this is my fault. If it wasn't for me, Percy would be . . . he'd be . . ." She trailed off, unable to complete her sentence because she was sobbing so hard. Mrs Weasley immediately went over to her.

"Don't cry, dear," she said. "It's not your fault at all – you didn't cast the spell. It's no one's fault," she soothed, hugging Penelope.

"Yeah," said George. "It just shows how much Perce loves you, to take the curse for you. He'd have never forgiven himself if he hadn't done it." After a while, Penelope appeared to relax a little more, once all the Weasleys had reassured her that it wasn't her fault, and they didn't blame her at all. Mrs Weasley kept a comforting arm around her, Ginny went over to sit on her other side, and everyone quietened down again, each lost in their own thoughts once more.

At nearly ten o'clock, a Healer came in to let them know that there was no change in Percy's condition. She also said that, though this was a definitely good thing, as it meant that it was very unlikely that he would die, they wouldn't know the extent of his injuries until he woke up. Hermione felt Charlie slump back into his seat as she said those words, and took his hand again. He squeezed it gratefully, and once more silence fell in the small room. Half an hour later she and Fleur left in search of food, and came back with several cups of tea and coffee, and a few cakes and muffins from the canteen. No one touched the food, but the coffee was drunk quickly, then they went back to waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting some more.

No one slept; no one even closed their eyes, and eventually, at half past one on Saturday morning, the Healer, who had introduced herself as Helen O'Donahue, came back in to the room. "He's awake," she said, smiling broadly at them. "We think he's going to be OK."

Everyone leapt to their feet at her words, smiling, laughing, crying and hugging. After enough tissues had been handed around, and everyone had hugged everyone else – including Healer O'Donahue – at least twice, the general furore died down, and Molly was able to ask the Healer what the prognosis was.

"Well, we still have no idea what the spell was that hit him," she began, "but he has regained consciousness, and so far the only after-effect seems to be that he has absolutely no recollection at all of the past forty-eight hours or so – he remembers going to bed on Wednesday night, but nothing after that. Thursday and today – well, yesterday, technically – are a complete mystery to him."

"What about his physical wellbeing?" asked Mr. Weasley. "There's no cuts, or internal bleeding or anything?"

The Healer frowned slightly. "Nothing too major; at least in the immediate future. But the curse seems to have weakened his heart ever so slightly." She saw the looks of horror on the faces of the Weasleys, and hastened to reassure them. "It's not as bad as it sounds – all it means is that in the future – once he hits old age – he's likely to be more prone to heart attacks and the like. But as long as he eats a sensible, well balanced diet, we'll be able to keep that risk to a minimum, and we're also developing a potion at the moment, which works to strengthen the heart, so I'm sure by the time he has need of it, in fifty or sixty years or whatever, it'll be readily available."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Molly said, relief evident in her voice.

"You can come and see him if you want," said Healer O'Donahue, and immediately all seven Weasleys and Penelope moved forward. She held up her hands. "No more than two at a time, and only five minutes per pair!" she said severely.

Molly, Arthur and Penelope went in first – the Healer relented her 'no more than two people' rule when she saw the look Molly was giving her – followed, after five minutes by George and Ron, then Bill and Fleur. Ginny and Harry went in next, and when their five minutes were up, Charlie started forwards. Hermione hung back, but he pulled her in with him anyway, saying she was practically family, and she'd been present at the battle. Hermione wasn't sure what this last point had to do with anything, but she went in anyway.

Percy was sitting up on the bed, wearing a pair of green hospital pyjamas, his glasses and a broad smile. "Charlie; Hermione!" he said, waving at them both. "How are you?"

"Never mind us, how're _you_?" said Charlie, sitting down on a chair next to the bed. Hermione crouched on the floor.

"Oh, I feel fine," said Percy. "Never better. A little disconcerted to learn that it's Friday – well, Saturday really – as the last thing I remember is Wednesday night, but other than that I'm OK."

"Oh, thank Merlin!" said Charlie. "You seriously had me – and the others – worried there for a few hours."

"Oh dear, I hope I didn't get anyone too frantic," Percy said, rather anxiously.

"Don't be silly, we all coped," said Hermione, smiling up at him from her position on the floor. "We all knew you'd pull through in the end," she added.

"Ah yes, the others have told me you were at the fight, too," said Percy. "Are you alright? Did we put up a good show?"

"We put up a very good show, if I do say so myself," said Hermione. "And we keep telling you – we're all fine, it's _you_ we were worried about!"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me," said Percy, with a nonchalant wave of the hand.

"Don't get yourself knocked unconscious, and we won't need to, little brother," Charlie reprimanded gently. Percy opened his mouth to respond, but then Healer O'Donahue came back in.

"And that is _quite_ enough excitement for one night!" she said, sounding scarily like Professor McGonagall. "Out, now, both of you!" she waved her hands at Charlie and Hermione, and started fussing around with bottles of potions in a corner of the room, bear the sink. They said their goodbyes, and walked out of the room, but just as he was nearing the door, Percy called Charlie back.

"What is it?" Charlie asked, slightly confused.

"You," said Percy.

"Me?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, you," said Percy again. "If you want to get Hermione, you ought to be a bit more gentlemanly. Offer her the chair, and stuff; not make her sit on the floor."

"Get Hermione?" repeated Charlie. "What _are_ you on about?"

"Hermione is your mystery woman," said Percy, as though it was obvious. "The one Bill told us about the other night, the one me and George spent ages trying to guess."

"My mystery . . . what the . . . how did you . . ." Charlie stuttered incoherently.

"Oh, don't try to deny it," said Percy. "I worked it out the last – I mean, Wednesday night. She's the one you're secretly in love with, who you can't date because she has a boyfriend. Only Bill told me that she and Ron broke up, so now she's all yours for the taking. As it were."

Charlie couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation with his brother, who was lying in a hospital bed, and had been, until half an hour ago, fighting for his life. Or, if not fighting for his life, at least in serious danger of not waking up for quite a long while. His little brother Percy, who was perhaps the most clueless of all the Weasley siblings when it came to women, and that even included Ron. And to add even more surreality to things, the doctor was in there with them, mixing potions, but, if the smirk on her face was anything to go by, quite blatantly listening in on their conversation.

And were his feelings for Hermione _that_ obvious? Bill and George had just guessed, and so had Percy. Admittedly, George and Percy had been helped by Bill's none too subtle hints, but still. He, Charlie, had always been the best at keeping secrets. _Always_. The one the others told things to – secret, private things – because they knew that, if they asked him not to, he would never, ever dream of telling another soul. And now here he was, being read like an open book by his little brother.

Quite understandably (in his opinion, at least) he was unable to form a response more coherent than, "I don't . . . Hermione's not . . . I'm not . . ." which elicited a pitying glance from Percy, and an impatient sigh and strict instructions to leave _now_ from the Healer.

"Just remember!" called Percy, as he left the room. "Offer her the chair next time!"

_Honestly_. Being told how to handle his love life by his little brothers. Could his life be any more embarrassing? Hermione, chatting to Ginny and Harry, over at the far end of the waiting room had evidently not heard any of his conversation, and for that he gave thanks to as many deities as he could think of. She evidently did _not_ have any feelings for him, other than those of friendship, and anyway, he couldn't date his little brother's ex. That was just too weird.

Having established that Percy was to be given a sleeping potion, and would therefore be out of it for a good twelve hours, Molly and Arthur decided to stay at the hospital anyway, and Penelope joined them. They would be able to stay in the waiting room, and though the others insisted that they would be far more comfortable at home, in their own beds, and anyway, it wasn't like Percy was going to be in a position to talk to them for quite a while, they decided to stay anyway.

Bill then said that he was going to take Fleur home, as she was practically asleep on her feet, and Molly insisted that he stayed with his wife, due to her being pregnant (even though he offered to stay at the hospital too). Ginny and Harry went back to her flat – Harry was adamant that he would stay to protect her, in case "anything happened", and though Ginny was most definitely of the opinion that she did _not_, under any circumstances, need protecting, she didn't protest too much, as it meant having Harry stay with her.

George and Ron disappeared off to George's flat ("for a stiff drink or seven") and soon Hermione and Charlie were the only ones left.

"Well, I'll say goodnight, then," she said to the remaining occupants of the room. "Or good morning, or whatever it is," she added, yawning.

"Yes, goodnight, dear," said Molly, hugging her. "Make sure you get some sleep."

Hermione chuckled. "You too," she said, hugging her back.

Charlie, too, said his goodbyes, and went to hug his mother. "'Night Mum, Dad," he said.

"Goodnight, Charlie," said his mother. "You will make sure Hermione gets home safely, won't you? Everyone else has gone . . . and Ginny told me you broke up with Ron?" she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione said, a forced smile on her face. "Ron and I have broken up now."

"For good?" Molly asked, sounding disappointed. "Oh dear . . . are you sure you won't be getting back together again? There's—"

"Come on, Molly, this isn't the time to be discussing this," Arthur cut in, saving Hermione from a half an hour lecture on why she and Ron should start going out again. She smiled at him thankfully.

"Yeah, come on Hermione," said Charlie, taking her arm and leading her out of the room. "I'll see you home safely," he continued, winking at her, and the pair of them left the room amid a chorus of goodnights.

"'Walk me home'," repeated Hermione. She pulled a face. "Oh, dear. I do feel bad, deceiving your Mum like this. She's always been so good to me, and here we are, sneaking around and everything . . ."

"I could leave, if you wanted," said Charlie.

"Oh, Gods, no," said Hermione, hurriedly. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I just feel a bit . . . guilty, that's all. I wouldn't want you to leave." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "I'd miss you," she said, blushing slightly. "After all, who'd be around to cook for me, and fix the shower when it breaks?" she joked.

"Oh yes, you definitely need a man for those kinds of things," Charlie said, nodding seriously.

"Oh, don't say that!" groaned Hermione.

"Don't say what?" repeated Charlie, confused.

"'You need a man'," said Hermione. "Honestly, I haven't even been broken up with Ron for a week yet – a _week_! – and all I'm hearing from all my girlfriends, and your Mum, and even Harry the other day is how I need a man in my life!" She snorted in disgust. "Honestly! This is the twenty-first century here! I am a successful woman, and I do not need my success to be measured on whether or not I have a boyfriend. It's rather insulting, you know? Never mind all the academic credentials I have; I'm a failure because I don't have a boyfriend." She sighed.

"You think that's bad?" asked Charlie. "I've had that from my Mum – and sometimes even my brothers – every time I've come home for the past eight or nine years. 'Why aren't you engaged yet?' 'How come you've never brought anyone home for us to meet?' Argh!" he growled.

"It does get a bit . . . wearing, doesn't it?" asked Hermione, and Charlie nodded vehemently in agreement.

"It truly does," he said. "I mean, every time—"

"HERMIONE!" They rounded a corner, and Hermione was immediately engulfed by two shrieking girls. It was Isabelle and Coralie, her two French friends from the Ministry. They jabbered away at her, in a mixture of French and English, laughing and hugging her, and she joined in, glad that they had made it out safely and that they were evidently fine.

Charlie tapped her on the shoulder and cleared his throat. "I'll . . . um . . . just go back to the flat, and see you later?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Yeah, that's fine. I won't be long!" she called, as he disappeared off down the corridor.

Isabelle and Coralie rounded on her the moment he had disappeared from view.

"Hermione," said Coralie, her face serious. "_Who_ was that?"

"_Mon Dieu_!" exclaimed Isabelle, pretending to fan herself and the pair of them giggled.

"Oh, for Goodness' sake!" said Hermione, rolling her eyes but turning a bit pink all the same. "That's only Charlie!"

"_Only_ Charlie?" repeated Isabelle. "You share a flat with _him_?" Hermione nodded. "Urgh, I hate you so much." She poked her tongue out at her.

"Why?" asked Hermione, perplexed.

"Um, hello, have you taken a good look at him recently?" Isabelle asked.

"Yes, but . . . oh!" said Hermione, her point finally dawning on her. "Well, yeah, he is fairly good looking, but he's also Ron's—"

"Oh, so _he's_ the one you were supposed to be going on a date with today!" said Coralie. "What happened?"

"On the date?" Hermione asked, and the girls nodded. "It never happened. His brother was injured at the Ministry."

The two girls sobered up immediately, and asked what had happened, whether he had been seriously hurt and if he was going to be alright. Hermione nodded. "Yeah, it was a bit . . . touch and go for a few hours. But he pulled through, and he'll be alright now, hopefully."

"It wasn't Ron, was it?" asked Coralie.

Hermione shook her head. "No, not Ron. Another of his brothers, Percy. Percy Weasley. I've introduced you to him a few times, do you remember?"

"Tall, red hair and freckles?" Isabelle asked. Hermione nodded. "I vaguely recollect him . . . but you say he's going to be OK?" Hermione nodded again. "That's good."

"Anyway, what about you?" said Hermione, suddenly remembering why the pair of them were at the hospital.

"Me?" asked Isabelle. "Pfft, I'm fine," she said, waving a hand airily.

"She _wasn't_ fine," corrected Coralie. "I was very worried for a few hours . . . but the nurses gave her plenty of blood replenishing potions, and they managed to fix her wound in the end, so—"

"Oh, don't listen to her," said Isabelle. "Of course I was always going to be fine. I wasn't exactly going to die and not find out what happens between you and dear Charlie in the end, was I?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Hermione.

"Oh for _Merlin's_—"

"We have to be going now," cut in Coralie, hastily averting an argument, and the pair of them started off down the corridor. "We'll see you . . . next time we have a class, whenever that is."

"'Bye!" called Hermione, before going to the designated apparition spot and apparating back to her flat. She let herself in, and saw Charlie's head poking out of his bedroom.

"You got back to your flat alright then?" he asked with a wink, and Hermione laughed.

"I did," she agreed, yawning. "Oh, excuse me. I'm off to bed now, it being quarter past two in the morning."

"Me, too," said Charlie, giving her a wave and shutting his door. Hermione stumbled around her bedroom and bathroom for five minutes or so; removing her make-up, cleaning her teeth and pulling on some pyjamas before collapsing into bed, exhausted.

Suddenly, she was awake again. Groggily she glanced at her clock – 3:47am. So, she had been asleep for about an hour and a half. What had woken her, then? Her answer came immediately: a cry from Charlie's room and a couple of thuds. Charlie was being attacked!

She charged into his room, blasting the door open with her wand. He was sitting bolt upright in bed, hair sticking up in all directions. "What?" he yelled, confused and disoriented, clutching his wand and trying to untangle himself from his sheets.

"You're being attacked!" Hermione answered, still not properly awake herself.

"I am?" Charlie asked, looking around as if he expected someone to jump out from inside the wardrobe, or perhaps from behind the curtains. "I mean, what's going on? I'm not being attacked – what's happening?"

Hermione felt slightly silly. "I heard a cry from your room, and a few thuds. I thought you were being attacked," she said, sheepishly.

Charlie's ears went pink. "I was . . . uh . . . having a bad dream. I sometimes talk in my sleep a bit."

"Oh," said Hermione, feeling even more silly. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just jumpy, after what happened today."

Charlie nodded. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Physically, I'm fine," Hermione replied. "I was really lucky – not a scratch on me. Mentally, I'm . . . not so much. Not really. I mean, seeing my friends throwing themselves into battle again; it reminded me of what happened a couple of years ago, with Voldemort and everything. When Percy fell down . . . I thought he was dead. It was like, after all we went through over the last few years, it wasn't worth it. We did all that, and yet there were still all those people out there, we could still be killed. What was the point?"

"C'mere," said Charlie, pulling her down onto the bed next to him and hugging her tightly. "What you and Harry and Ron did, two years ago, to bring down Voldemort – the nine months you spent running up and down the country, hiding from him and concocting plans for his downfall, and, in the end, defeating him . . . how dare you say that was for nothing?" Hermione looked into his eyes and was a bit scared to see how angry he looked.

"You and Harry and Ron are the three bravest people I know, because of that," he said. "Oh, I know what you're going to say about the Order, and all that, and yes, they were brave too. But they didn't spend nine months living in isolation, and they were all wizards who were of age – yes, you were too, but you yourself were the oldest, and you were only eighteen. That's not old. That's _nothing_. And you did all that; it's amazing."

"But not amazing enough," said Hermione, still glum.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," said Charlie. "You can't expect to completely save the world. You did a hundred times more than most people do in their whole lifetimes, but you can't do everything. There's always going to be evil out there; you can't rid the world of it completely. You did your bit, and no one expects any more than that. You can't save everyone, but you damn well did your share of the saving, and you did it well."

"Y'know," said Hermione, "for someone who wrestles dragons for a living, you're pretty clever." She smiled at him, and Charlie squeezed her shoulders.

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckled. "You OK now?" he asked, sounding more concerned.

Hermione nodded. "I'm getting there. What you said, it makes sense. I guess I'm just . . . being daft," she said.

"No, you're not," Charlie reassured her. "You've been through a lot today, you were in a battle, for Christ's sake! You're allowed to be feeling a bit strange."

"Thanks," said Hermione, and then her stomach growled at an embarrassingly loud volume. She turned a bright shade of pink. "Sorry," she muttered, as Charlie laughed loudly. "Kinda ruined the moment, didn't it?"

Charlie just laughed some more. "C'mon," he said, jumping out of bed and pulling on an old Weasley jumper with a dragon on the front of it. "Let's go and get some food. When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh . . ." said Hermione, thinking. "I guess . . . breakfast – I skipped lunch 'cause I had a paper due, and I wanted to get a start on it."

"Honestly," Charlie rolled his eyes. "You'll waste away – and then Mum'll have yet another thing to nag you about. Sit down." He pointed to the armchair in the living room and Hermione sat, summoning the duvet and pillows from her room. Charlie came back in from the kitchenette a few moments later, carrying two bowls and a large tub of chocolate chip ice cream. Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Oooh," she said, accepting the bowl. "Thanks!" They chatted amicably for half an hour or so, before there was a loud pop and a letter appeared out of thin air in the middle of the room. Charlie caught it as it fell down and handed it to Hermione, as it was addressed to her. She ripped it open and scanned down it.

"It's from the Ministry," she said. "Attack today . . . blah blah . . . we commend all the brave fighters . . . attackers are at present unknown . . . will keep you informed of an further developments . . . hah, that's not what Harry said—"

"Yeah, but they're not going to come out and say 'it was the Death Eaters, they escaped from Azkaban', are they?" Charlie put in. "It'd cause mass panic, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose," agreed Hermione, going back to reading the letter. "Yadda yadda . . . basically, they're not going to let slip what happened, though they find it highly regrettable and many inquiries will be started as soon as possible . . . blah blah . . . this is mostly just a load of official lines that they're sending out to all the employees, and . . . oh goody," she finished flatly.

"What?" asked Charlie.

"'As the Ministry buildings were not damaged in the attack, we shall return to business as usual, with everyone coming in when they usually would, as we want to show these despicable people that they have not won. Ms Granger, if you have not been injured you will be expected to attend your lectures on Monday as usual. If you were injured in the attack, please contact . . .' blah blah," Hermione sighed. "Well, I'm in on Monday then," she said.

"You'd think they'd cut you all some slack, what with the whole near-death experience thing," said Charlie.

"You would, wouldn't you?" she agreed. "But I guess I agree with what they're saying – we have to show these people that they haven't won, that we're not scared of them and the easiest way to do that is just to carry on as though nothing has happened . . . business as usual, like they say."

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "It probably is for the best." They chatted some more and, eventually, at nearly half past five in the morning, fell asleep.

* * *

Hermione felt herself being roughly shaken awake, and groggily opened her eyes. "Wh-wh-what's going on?" she yawned. Ginny's face came into view.

"Finally!" said the other girl, rolling her eyes.

"What?" asked Hermione, wishing she was still asleep.

"I need you to come to mine," said Ginny, sounding far too chipper for Hermione's liking.

"Why?" asked Hermione, suspiciously.

"I need you to help me bake a cake!" Ginny replied brightly.

"Bake a cake?" repeated Hermione. "Why? What's going on? What time is it?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" sighed Ginny. "You're not normally so dense."

"I'm not normally woken up by some weirdo in the middle of the night telling me to come and bake a cake with her . . . especially when the weirdo knows I can't cook!" said Hermione, throwing a pillow at Ginny. "Go 'way!"

"Absolutely not," said Ginny. "Firstly, it's not the middle of the night, it's half past three in the afternoon. Secondly—"

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked. "Half past three? Are you sure?"

"Pretty much," said Ginny, scarastically, pointing to the clock, which, sure enough, read half past three. Secondly, I know you can't cook, but I want you to expand the oven for me and also to help me ice it," she continued. "And thirdly, I haven't had the chance to talk with you properly about the whole Ron situation, so we need a good girly catch up. Oh, and I'm not a weirdo."

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "And this couldn't be done some other time?" she asked.

"Nope!" replied Ginny, yanking the duvet off Hermione, who squealed in shock.

"What's goin' on?" Charlie had evidently awoken, too.

"Me and Hermione are going to go to my flat and bake a cake," said Ginny. Charlie looked at the pair of them.

"I'm not even going to ask," he said, rolling over and closing his eyes again.

"Good plan," said Ginny, dragging Hermione into the bathroom. "Go shower," she said, pointing. "I'll fetch you some clothes."

Hermione did as she asked; showering, cleaning her teeth, getting dressed and brushing her hair in record time, before walking back out into the lounge. Charlie had woken up again, but was still lying on the sofa, wrapped in his duvet. "Hey, Hermione," he smiled at her. "Ginny was just telling me how you're going over to her flat to help her bake a cake for Mum for her birthday."

"Thank you very much for letting me know what's going on, Charlie," Hermione said very pointedly. "It's so considerate of you."

"You're welcome, darlin'," he winked at her, and Hermione blushed and knocked over an empty glass, flustered. "Anyway, I was just telling Ginny how I've been training you up!"

"Oo-er," said Ginny, smirking.

"Oh, real mature, Gin," said Hermione, becoming even more flustered.

"At _cooking_," said Charlie, firmly. "Hermione helps me in the kitchen – she's becoming quite a good cook!"

"Good," replied Ginny. "I'm going to need all the help I can get . . . anyway, cheerie-bye, Charlie; we're off now," she smiled at him and dragged Hermione over to the fireplace.

"It appears that I am off," said Hermione, waving at him.

"Try not to have too much fun," Charlie said dryly.

"I will," said Hermione, floo-ing Ginny's flat.

"_Now_," said Ginny firmly, once she had stepped out of the fireplace and got her balance back. "You can tell me all about what's going on with you and Charlie."

"Me and Charlie?" began Hermione, acting surprised. Ginny raised her eyebrows, and Hermione knew that any further denials would get her nowhere. "OK, OK. Me and Charlie. _Well_ . . ."

* * *

**I can't remember where I read it, but I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that JKR said that Dementors no longer guarded Azkaban. I could be making that up entirely, but I think I remember seeing it somewhere. If she didn't say it, I have now, so it's true for this story _–sticks out tongue-_**

**Not the most exciting chapter, I know, but they'll be lots of Charlie/Hermione action in the next chapter, and in the one after that, they end up jumping into bed together (though it's not _quite_ what you'd first think). Just though I'd give you all a little teaser of things to come lol x**


	10. Birthday

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't need to have a Saturday job . . . **

**My apologies for the delay – I've had more homework in the past four weeks than I had during the entire of last school year, no joke. The teachers are conspiring against me!**

* * *

" . . . absolutely nothing at all," she finished, causing Ginny to look across at her in obvious disbelief.

"Yeah, right," her friend said.

"No, let me finish," Hermione added. "Absolutely nothing is going on, but that doesn't mean that . . ." She trailed off, blushing.

"Doesn't mean that what?" prompted Ginny, a shrewd look in her eye.

"That doesn't mean that . . . I don't want there to be," she said, practically whispering the last part.

"That you what?" Ginny asked, playing deaf and cupping a hand to her ear.

"There isn't anything going on with me and Charlie but I want there to be!" Hermione practically glared, shooting a look at her friend that should have had her six feet under. Ginny just giggled.

"Alright, alright, I hear ya!" she said, still grinning. "No need to shout, hun."

"You are being particularly infuriating today, you know that?" Hermione asked.

"Thank you, I do try," said Ginny, pulling cooking equipment and ingredients out of cupboards. "Pass me the mixing bowl, would you – it's just down there by you. Thanks. So, tell me about Charlie, then."

"Tell me about why you dragged me out of bed to make a cake, then I'll tell you about Charlie," Hermione responded.

"Fine," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "You know it's Mum's fiftieth on Tuesday? And Dad was organising a surprise celebration thing?"

Hermione nodded. "I assume that's cancelled now, what with everything that happened with Percy, and all?" she asked.

"No, actually – it's still on," Ginny replied. Hermione looked surprised. "The Healers have said that, as long as nothing comes up, and he remains OK, Percy can be discharged on Tuesday. So Mum said, "Oh, that's great, Dad and I can come and get you when he finishes work, and you can come back home and have dinner with us, to celebrate my birthday,". Only Dad had the idea that we – well, he and Percy – kidnap her and take her out to a swanky restaurant, where we – me, you, Harry, my brothers and their better halves – will be waiting to surprise her."

"Oh, that's a nice idea," said Hermione.

"Yes, it is quite sweet, isn't it?" agreed Ginny. "Cute of Dad to think it up. Anyway, we'll all have dinner there, but I'm going to make a cake because I think it's nice to have a homemade cake on your birthday, and me and you can sneak off and get it after the main course."

"Sounds like a plan," said Hermione, catching the cake tin before it fell out of Ginny's grasp. "But I don't get why I have to be here – you know I can't cook."

"Well, partly because I don't know the spell to make the oven bigger," admitted Ginny. "I'm going to magically stretch the tin, to make the cake bigger, but it'll end up to big to fit in the oven, and I can't stretch that myself."

"Oh, that's easy," said Hermione. "Here you go." She waved her wand at the cooker, and it glowed bright green for a moment, before appearing totally to be normal. However, when she opened the door, it was clear that the oven was a lot bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. "Hah – it's a TARDIS oven," giggled Hermione. Ginny looked confused. "Never mind," said Hermione.

"Cheers for that," said Ginny, cracking an egg into a jug. "But don't go yet – the main reason I asked you round was because I wanted to hear all about you and Charlie – I didn't miss the looks he was giving you at the hospital yesterday – and don't you dare get that 'whatever-do-you-mean?' innocent look on your face: I want details and I want them now!"

Hermione laughed. "Alright, alright, I'll give you details," she chuckled, before sobering up immediately. "There are none. I've finally admitted to myself that I like him, but he doesn't see me as anything else than his little sister's best friend and little brother's ex-boyfriend."

"Oh, please," snorted Ginny. "After the way he was looking at you last night? I don't think so, missy."

"Last night doesn't count, because everyone was really stressed and needed lots of reassurance. We all thought Percy was going to die, or something, naturally we were all very upset and looked for comfort wherever we could. I happened to be sitting next to Charlie, so I was his source of comfort. I could just as easily have been you, or Bill or your Mum, or anyone. It was simply a case of being in the right place at the right time."

"Well, I'm not convinced, but we'll let it slide for now," said Ginny, holding up her hands to stop Hermione's tirade. "Let's say that last night was your explanation – seeking comfort in the nearest source of whatever. But what about just now, when I came to fetch you? The flirtiness between you two?"

"Flirtiness!" Hermione flushed pink. "That wasn't flirtiness! That was just normal! It was just _friendliness_," she stressed the last word.

Ginny's eyebrows rose so far up her forehead they were practically sticking to the ceiling. "_That_ was normal?" she asked. "That's how I talk to Harry!"

"And your point is?" Hermione asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "My point is, me and Harry talk like that because we're dating. We're _engaged_. It's what couples do. You and Charlie are acting like a couple, 'Mione," she replied. "Honestly, you can be pretty stupid sometimes!" she teased.

"I'm . . . we're not . . . Charlie and I are _not _a couple!" Hermione spluttered.

"Yet," said Ginny. "I give you another month. If you're not dating by then I'll . . . buy you a big box of Honeydukes finest!"

"Good, I look forward to eating them," returned Hermione.

"Well, you'd better make sure you've got enough spare cash to buy your own box – I reckon my money's pretty safe," Ginny replied. "And anyway, I thought you said you fancied him?" she queried.

"I do, I just don't want to date him," Hermione said.

"Well, that's cleared that up!" said Ginny, rolling her eyes again.

"What I mean is, I guess I do fancy him . . . but I don't want to ask him out," Hermione attempted to explain.

"Why not?" asked Ginny, curious.

"Well . . . even if you completely ignore the whole Ron issue and the weirdness of dating your ex's brother . . . I don't think he sees me as more than someone to flirt with occasionally. He wouldn't want to get serious with me . . . and it'd be so embarrassing if I asked him out and he said no," her friend replied, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"You're scared of rejection?" asked Ginny.

"I guess so," said Hermione.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" she asked. Hermione nodded despondently. "It's just something you have to get over . . . but of course, that's _so_ much easier said than done."

Hermione sighed. "I just wish I knew what he was thinking half the time. Like, we'll be talking, and I'll say something and think, 'oh God, was that too flirty?' or 'have I taken that the wrong way?' . . . and I wish I could read his mind, to see what he thought."

"You could always learn Occulemency," suggested Ginny, with a wry smile.

"Meh, too much like hard work," Hermione said, dismissing her suggestion with a wave of the hand. "Arg! Men are such hard work!"

"Yeah, but they're worth it when you get to—" Ginny whispered something that made Hermione shriek in disgust and throw a teaspoon at her friend's head.

"Ew! Gin! _Way_ too much information!" she protested. Ginny laughed, dodging the spoon easily.

"Well, I'm sorry, but just because you're not getting any and I am, doesn't mean that—" Ginny began, but Hermione cut her off.

"Stop right there or I shall be sick!" she commanded, holding up her hands.

"'Oo is going to be sick?" asked a voice, and Fleur stepped out of the fireplace.

"Me," said Hermione, "if _she_-" she pointed a finger in Ginny's direction, "-doesn't stop talking about her and Harry's sex life!"

Fleur laughed, Ginny grinned and Hermione looked faintly revolted. "Never mind about that; 'Mione, I invited Fleur around to help ice the cake, which is ready to go in the oven right about now, so that should only be another forty-five minutes or so, and you're welcome to stay and help if you want," Ginny said, levitating the enormous cake tin, full of mixture into the oven.

Hermione readily agreed to stay, and the three women soon started talking about Fleur's baby and pregnancy – a much safer subject, Hermione thought, than hearing about her two best friends' . . . urgh. Just urgh.

* * *

Hermione glanced up at the clock in the library, and was horrified to discover that it was already reading half past five. She was supposed to be there _now_. Hurriedly, she packed up her stuff into her satchel and raced to the women's toilets, where she changed her pale blue blouse for a deep purple satin top, added a necklace and some eye make-up, reapplied her lip gloss and redid her hair. She glanced at herself in the mirror.

She was . . . passable. She wasn't going to set the world on fire, but she'd do. In truth, she realised with a sinking heart, she probably wouldn't have made such an effort if she hadn't known that Charlie would be there. Honestly, when had she turned into such a shallow, vapid airhead? As if Charlie cared that much about how she looked . . . and anyway, he saw her every morning in her old pyjamas, with her hair unbrushed and the remnants of the previous day's mascara still clinging to her face. When he saw her like that everyday, what was the point in trying to look glamorous? She hesitated for a moment, contemplating washing off her make-up (it was probably too heavy – it was only a family dinner thing, anyway), but then she glanced again at her watch, saw it was nearly twenty to six, decided against it, and turning on the spot, she apparated to the restaurant.­

* * *

"You're late," said a voice in her ear.

"Only by ten minutes," she started to protest, but when she turned around she saw Charlie wink at her. She poked her tongue out at him in response. "Honestly, I had to glamorise myself, didn't I? I couldn't exactly come dressed as I was before."

"Why?" Ron asked, coming over to join the pair of them. "What was wrong with what you were wearing at lunchtime?"

"Well, it wasn't very suitable for a party, was it?" she asked, but both men merely looked at her with blank faces. "Honestly," she rolled her eyes. "Can either of you two actually remember what I was wearing earlier?" Both of them shook their heads, and then laughed at the exasperated look on her face.

Ginny came into the small room that they had rented at that point, and cleared her throat. Everyone – Hermione and Charlie, Ron and Harry, George and Katie and Bill and Fleur – turned to look at her. "OK guys, here's the plan," she said, once she had everyone's attention. "Dad's just sent word that they're finalising the details with Percy, and that they should all be along in the next five minutes or so. The restaurant owners have given us permission to wait up here with the lights off, then the serving staff will come up once we're all ready to order. If everyone puts their gifts on that pile there—" Hermione hurriedly put her present to Molly (a box of chocolates and Celestina Warbeck's autobiography) on the pile "and when they get here, we all shout 'Surprise!'. Then Charlie, Hermione, Ron – it's your job to raise the lights up, after George, Katie and Bill have set of the indoor fireworks, and—"

"Relax, Gin," George cut in. "We've been through this a hundred times already. We all know what we're doing, OK? Let's just turn the lights down and wait for them to come – we haven't got much time."

Ginny looked slightly crestfallen. "If everyone's sure they know what they're doing, I suppose that—" she began doubtfully, but everyone reassured her that _yes_, they most _definitely_ did know what they were doing and _no_ they did _not_ need to run through it again. She went over to stand near Harry, who put his arm around her, then the lights were turned off and the room was plunged into darkness.

Hermione heard someone – she was sure it was either Ginny or Katie – giggle, and she heard Bill murmur something to Fleur. Ron said something evidently amusing to Harry, who gave a very quiet snort of laughter, and someone 'shushed' loudly. "Well," whispered a voice in her ear, and she jumped, forgetting that she was still standing near Charlie. "This is exciting."

She giggled softly; glad he couldn't see her blush when his hand accidentally ran across her side. "Oh, most defiantly," she agreed. Her tone was as sarcastic as his had been, but she was rather disgusted with herself when she realised that actually, she _was_ quite excited to be standing so close to Charlie in the dark.

Someone – she thought George – brushed past her and she took a step backwards, nearly tumbling over as she did so. "Steady," Charlie said, catching her around the waist and pulling her back gently so that she was leaning against him. She was _really_ glad it was dark.

"Thanks," she murmured, noticing that his hands hadn't left her waist yet, even though the danger of her falling had long past – though she wasn't complaining in the slightest.

"You're welcome," he replied easily. "So, how was your day?"

_Much better now that you're here, thanks_. No, she definitely couldn't say _that_. "Oh, you know," she said, waving a hand before remembering that he couldn't see her. "Almost as exciting as standing in this dark room is." She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle. "How about yours?"

"Oh, the usual," he replied. "Wrestled a few dragons-" He was cut off by the arrival of Arthur's patronus.

"Coming now," it simply said, and it had barely dissolved when Percy, Arthur, Molly and Penelope apparated into the room with a pop.

"What? What's going on?" Molly Weasley asked, sounding surprised and confused. Her questions were drowned out, though, by a rousing chorus of 'happy birthday', some loud bangs from the fireworks erupting out of Bill and George's wands, and she blushed slightly and smiled.

"Really, you needn't have—"

"Really, we _did_ have to," Percy cut her off, giving his mother a brief hug before going to stand next to Penelope, slipping his arms around her waist. Arthur came to take his place, kissing his wife on the forehead.

"Happy birthday, love," he said softly, kissing her on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around him and returned his kiss, and there was a slightly awkward moment where everyone looked determinedly at the ceiling or the floor, then George wolf-whistled, and they broke apart, looking for a moment like guilty teenagers caught doing something they shouldn't.

Everyone laughed, then Ginny suggested that they all sat down at the table, whilst Molly opened her gifts. The table was rectangular, so Molly naturally sat at the top end, with Arthur on her right side and Percy on her left (at her insistence, so she could "keep an eye on him". He sent pleading glances in his siblings' direction, but they all seemed to be finding their shoes very interesting. No one was prepared to get in the way of their mother's mollycoddling).

The Weasleys all headed for the table, and Hermione found herself being sandwiched between Charlie and George. Katie Bell, George's girlfriend, was on his other side, and Bill and Fleur were next to Charlie. They all chatted amicably; Hermione and Katie wanted to know everything about the baby, even though Fleur was only a couple of months pregnant, and George and Charlie tried not to look too bored as the women discussed names, gender, childbirth and everything else that could possibly be associated with children.

Fortunately for them, the serving staff arrived and took their orders, and the topic of conversation changed to work, with Charlie entertaining them all with a story about an escaped dragon. "But how could it be nearly three days before anyone noticed that Bella was missing?" Hermione asked him, once she had heard the full story.

"Well, it's hard to spot a dragon sometimes," Charlie said, spearing a carrot.

"Oh yes, I should imagine that something the size of a small house, with bright red scales and a tendency to breathe fire is very hard to spot," she replied sarcastically, and the others laughed.

"No, they are," protested Charlie. "Especially when they're hidden by all the trees!"

"Oh yeah, all the trees in the wilds of Wales!" Hermione teased. "It's a virtual Amazon over there, don't'cha know," she finished, looking at him over her glass of wine.

"It _is_ hard to spot a dragon, sometimes," Charlie insisted. "But I just can't be bothered to explain to you exactly _why_ it is – there are just too many reasons, and I haven't the time to go through them all here."

"He means he hasn't got the mental capacity to do so," Hermione stage-whispered to the others.

"Oh, shut up and have some more to drink," grumbled Charlie, good-naturedly, pouring her some more wine from the bottle open on the table in front of them. The others laughed at their teasing of each other.

"So," began Katie, looking slightly confusedly at Hermione and Charlie over her vegetable lasagne, "how long have you two been going out?" Bill and George immediately burst into hysterics, and Fleur wasn't doing much of a job of hiding her giggles, either. Charlie and Hermione, meanwhile, were various shades of red and purple; Charlie spluttering incoherently and Hermione chocking on her mouthful of chicken. "What?" Katie asked, now even more puzzled. "What did I say?"

"Well, you see, the thing is," began George, managing to stop his laughter briefly, "although they do act like a complete old married couple, Hermione and Charlie aren't actually dating. She only broke up with Ron a couple of weeks ago!" He started to laugh again, as Charlie and Hermione – the latter being patted on the back by Fleur to stop her chocking – glared at him. He raised his eyebrows in a 'Yeah? What?' expression.

"Oh," said Katie, and then again, but with more understanding. "_Oh_. Oh, my God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—" She turned nearly as red as the blushing pair seated opposite her.

"It's alright," said Charlie, smiling slightly forcibly at her. "I'm . . . yeah – don't worry about it," he smiled again, this time less forced.

"S'all OK," Hermione managed to cough out, gratefully accepting the glass of water Fleur handed to her. She coughed a few more times, but after a few swallows, she was fine. A rather embarrassing silence descended over their end of the table, with everyone looking determinedly at their plates.

"So," said Bill, jumping in after a moment or two to save his brother and friend from even more embarrassment. "Who's putting their money on England in the World Cup Qualifiers next month?"

"Not me," scoffed George. "We still can't hold our heads up after the debacle at the World Cup last time – we're getting nowhere."

"Nah, I reckon we'll make the Qualifiers," said Charlie. "Won't get much further after that, though," he added gloomily.

"Well, you say that, but we've got a much better pool of players to choose from now – much, much better than we had last time," Katie put in.

"Really?" George asked sceptically, raising his eyebrows. "Like who?"

"No, she's got a point," said Bill. "I mean, there's Harper – he's always been good, and . . ."

The boys and Katie continued their conversation, and Hermione, after exchanging rather exasperated looks with Fleur, zoned out, thinking back to her utter mortification a few moments before. Honestly, had she been _that_ obvious? She had always prided herself on being exceptionally subtle around men – careful not to overstep any boundaries, and especially not the one between friends and lovers.

Yes, she fancied Charlie (well, it was more like she just had a crush on him, really), but there was no way he would feel the same way about her (although Ginny seemed to think he might . . . but really what did Ginny know about romance? She had once sent the boy she had a crush on a singing dwarf on Valentine's Day! But then again, Ginny was now engaged to be married to that boy. Maybe she should listen to her more often. . .).

This love business was just too hard. She wanted just to give up on the whole institution and go and live with twenty cats and a broomstick in a cottage somewhere. It would make life a whole lot easier, that would be for sure.

She was interrupted from her musings by Ginny, who appeared behind her, clearing her throat meaningfully. Hermione remembered that she was supposed to be going back to Ginny's flat to collect the cake they had made and iced the other day. She and Fleur excused themselves, and got up from the table together, walking into a small annex off the main restaurant.

"You stay here," Ginny said in a low voice to Fleur. "You can't apparate while pregnant – we don't want the baby to get hurt. Hermione and I will go back to my flat, and pick up the cake, then we'll bring it back here, light it and levitate it in. I've already given the boys their cue to start singing when they see us bringing it in."

"Little Miss Organised," said Hermione, getting out her wand.

"For once," said Ginny. "See you in a moment, Fleur." The pair of them turned on the spot and apparated back to Ginny's flat. Hermione paused to smooth her hair down in the mirror in the hallway and check her lip-gloss, as Ginny retrieved the cake from its cupboard.

"Need a hand?" she asked, and Ginny nodded gratefully.

"Thanks," she said, as Hermione helped her with the enormous cake. "So," she continued, taking a knife out of the drawer and balancing it on the plate with the cake. "Having fun with Charlie?"

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, as Ginny giggled. "Katie's already asked me if we're dating, I don't need anymore embarrassment."

"What?" asked Ginny. Hermione told her how Katie had thought that she and Charlie were a couple, whilst Ginny roared with laughter. "Well, it's only a matter of time," she teased in a singsong voice.

"Oh, shut up," repeated Hermione.

"Sorry," said Ginny, not sounding remotely apologetic. "Come on," she added, lifting the cake up. "Let's get back to the party." Hermione took the other end of the plate, and, on a count of three, they turned and apparated back to the restaurant. When they got there, Fleur lit the candles magically, and they levitated the cake into the restaurant, as everybody began to sing 'happy birthday'.

Molly turned in her seat, her face breaking out into a smile as she saw the three young women heading towards her. Ginny set the cake down on the table in front of her, just as the song ended, and she blew out the candles as everyone cheered. The cake was cut and handed out, and everyone dug in, complimenting Ginny on its lovely taste. "Oh, it wasn't just me – Fleur and Hermione helped," she said. Molly thanked them for their efforts, too, then a slow song started playing, and Arthur led his wife out onto the dance floor. They were soon joined by Bill and Fleur, Harry and Ginny and George and Katie.

After the song ended, a more upbeat tune began to play, and Ginny dragged Hermione out on to the dance floor. "Ask Charlie to dance," she suggested to Hermione, twirling around.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I don't think so," she replied.

"Why not?" asked Ginny. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Harry cut in again, taking Ginny away from her. Hermione was not partnerless for long though, as George soon came over and joined her.

She danced with Ron next, then Percy, Arthur, Bill, Ginny again, Harry, Fleur and Katie, Ron again, and George – but not with the person she most wanted to. She was slightly disappointed – everyone was dancing with everyone, so she could have danced with Charlie and no one would have thought anything of it. The music, floating in from an undeterminable source, was a mixture of muggle and magical bands, so Hermione knew almost all of the songs. She was singing along to an old Beatles track with Ginny, enjoying herself immensely, and not caring about her singing voice – or lack of – unaware of her audience.

Charlie was stood by the bar, glass in hand, watching her twirl and laugh with his sister. "So . . ." began Bill slyly, sidling up to his brother. "Hermione's looking good tonight, don't'cha think?"

"What? Oh, oh yeah, she is," he replied, not taking his eyes off the girl.

"You might want to close your mouth though. And mop up your drool," Bill continued, talking to the ceiling.

"Yeah . . ." murmured Charlie, clearly not listening to him at all.

"Did you know that George has invented a new sport?" Bill asked, looking shrewdly at his brother.

"That's nice," Charlie said vaguely.

"Yeah – one legged skiing on a broomstick whilst balancing a cat on your head. Mum's the new world champion," he said.

"Uh-huh," said Charlie.

"Well, Fleur and I are off home now – did I tell you that we've brought a house on the moon? More space to raise the baby . . . although I am slightly worried about all the aliens – do you think they'd be a bad influence on it?" Bill asked.

"Yeah," Charlie said. Bill rolled his eyes, pulled out is wand and poked his brother on the arm, giving him a small electric shock.

"Ah! What the hell?" Charlie asked, slopping his drink down his front, but sounding much more alert than he had a moment ago.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?" asked Bill, grinning.

"I have," Charlie protested, but caught his brother's look, before adding, "not. Sorry," he finished, sheepishly.

"S'OK," said Bill. "I was just saying how nice Hermione was looking tonight, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, yeah!" exclaimed Charlie. "I mean, yeah, she's lookin' good," he added, much more casually.

Bill just grinned knowingly. "Just ask her to dance, Char," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh, I will," replied his brother, a gleam in his eye.

"You might want to clear up your front first, though," suggested Bill, chuckling.

"Thanks," Charlie said, slightly sarcastically, but waving his wand at his front all the same. Before either of them could say anything else, Hermione herself came over to their corner, flushed and grinning.

"Whew!" she said, fanning herself with a menu. "I'm so hot!" Bill caught Charlie's eye, and gave a stifled laugh, but she didn't appear to notice.

"Having a nice time?" Charlie asked politely.

"Yeah, it's great," she enthused. "Ginny and Penny were just teaching me the Hippogriff – it's kind of like the Macarena, you know?" Bill and Charlie looked blankly at her. "Never mind, it's just a muggle dance thing. Anyway, I thought I'd come over here before Ginny makes me dance _again_ – my feet are killing me." She sat down on a bar stool with a sigh of relief.

"Ah, my wife appears to have no one to dance with," Bill said, looking over at Fleur – who was not dancing, it was true, but who was deeply immersed in a conversation with Mrs. Weasley. "I must go and rectify that problem straight away!" He shot off, leaving Charlie to shake his head at his brother's none-to-subtle hints.

"About as subtle as a sledge hammer," he muttered.

"What was that, sorry?" asked Hermione, looking up from the foot she had been rubbing.

"Nothing," said Charlie, quickly. "So . . . uh . . . did I tell you that you're looking very nice this evening?" he asked.

Her face broke out into a warm smile. "Thank you, Charlie. That's very kind of you to say," she replied.

"It's only the truth," he said, moving his face closer to hers. She flushed pink, still smiling. "Have your feet recovered yet?" he added.

"Mmm, I reckon so," she said. "It depends what you had in mind." She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Well," he said, grinning. "How about a dance?"

"I reckon I could manage that," she said sweetly, and he offered out his arm. She took it, and, giggling, let him lead her out on to the dance floor. As they got there, the song changed, and a much slower tune came on. Hermione put her arms around his neck, and he slipped his around her waist. They started swaying together slowly, and Hermione smiled to herself, feeling like a fourteen year old with a crush again. Ginny caught her eye, standing a few feet away with Harry and gave her the thumbs up, and she resisted the urge to giggle.

"What are you thinking?" asked Charlie, looking at her curiously.

_About how hot you are_. "About . . . uh . . . just stuff," she replied, with a small smile. He was about to ask more, but he caught his mother looking at the pair of them very shrewdly. He dropped his hands from Hermione quicker than if he'd been electrocuted. She gave him a strange look.

"I . . . uh . . . excuse me." He rushed off, leaving her stranded in the middle of the dance floor. She blinked, her cheeks flooding with colour. She hoped that no one else had noticed, but she had no such look – she saw George, looking curiously at the direction Charlie had just vanished into; Percy looking very surprised; Fleur staring at her with sympathetic outrage (though she at least had the grace to go back to talking to Bill, pretending that she hadn't actually been watching the pair of them); Molly shooting daggers at her son, and then changing her look to one of sympathy when she glanced at Hermione.

She wasn't alone for long though – Ginny shot over to her side, and slipped her arm around her friend's waist. "What was that about?" she asked.

"I . . . I don't know," murmured Hermione, surprised at how hurt she felt – and sounded.

"Bastard," said Ginny, glaring at her brother, who had just appeared in the doorway, looking very ashamed. Hermione caught his eye, and looked away quickly, blinking back tears. "Are you OK?" Ginny asked, her voice soft.

Hermione took a deep breath, and paused for a moment. "I'm fine," she replied, waiting until it was true before she said the words. She was distracted by Molly and Arthur announcing that they were off home, and got separated from Ginny. Percy and Penelope approached her, letting her know that they, too, were off, and they were quickly followed by Bill and Fleur, who wished her goodnight.

"Come this way," Bill said to his wife, gently steering her in the direction of his younger brother. "What the hell—" he began as soon as Charlie was close enough to hear him, but he was cut off.

"Don't," Charlie snarled. "I know already."

"Just . . . fix it – soon," Bill advised. "Women hold grudges."

Fleur smacked him playfully on the arm. "Oi!" she said, sticking her tongue out at him

He winked at her. "We're off now," he said. "See you."

"Bye," muttered Charlie, despondently as they left.

George and Katie left, too, and Charlie watched as Hermione made her way over to Ginny. The two girls hugged, and it looked as though Hermione was offering to stay for a bit longer, but Ginny sent her on her way. She picked up her bag and apparated without a glance at him, and he sighed.

Ginny hurried over to her fiancé's side. "Go with Ron – back to mine if you want," she said to him quickly. "I need you two to get out of here."

"Why, do we smell, or something?" teased Harry, smiling at her.

Ginny smiled back, but it was distracted. "No – I need to talk to Charlie, that's all. You go – I won't be long." She pecked him on the lips, and he grinned at her.

"You'd better not be – I'll be waiting." He winked at her, before going over to Ron, slinging an arm around him, and walking out of the door.

Charlie made a half-hearted attempt at straightening out the dishes and plates left on the table. "Leave that," said Ginny. "The owners will sort it out. I need to talk to you."

"You do?" asked Charlie.

"I do," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "You know, you're my brother, Charlie, and I love you to bits – but I'm telling you this now: if you break her heart, I will break every bone in your body. And that's a promise. Do you understand me?"

"I . . . yeah, I understand," he replied, knowing immediately what his sister was talking about.

"Good," she replied, severely. "You really hurt her just then. And Charlie . . . she's had enough crap dealt to her in this life, without you adding to it."

"I know. I'm a total jerk, right?" he moaned.

"Well . . . quite frankly, yes, you are," Ginny answered. "What the hell possessed you to do that?"

"I don't really . . . it's hard to explain," he trailed off. "I just . . . well, Mum was looking, and I . . ."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're going to have to explain much better than that to her, you know," she said.

"I know," he said. "She hates me."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Ginny said, more airily. "Put it this way: she doesn't hate you in the same way that you don't hate her, if you catch my drift." She raised her eyebrows, and a faint flicker of hope passed across Charlie's face. "Just . . . don't screw it up anymore than you have already, OK?" He winced slightly. "Oh, and we were absolutely and emphatically _not_ just having this conversation. She will kill me if she found out that I told you about how much she . . . uh . . . doesn't hate you."

"What conversation?" he asked, with a grin, and Ginny nodded approvingly.

"Good, good," she said. "But my warning still stands: you're my brother, but she's my best friend. Break her heart, and I will rip out your testicles."

Charlie looked suitably horrified. "You need any help here?" he asked, indicating the restaurant.

"No, it's alright. You go on home," she insisted.

"What about the bill?" he asked.

"Dad, Percy, Penny, Harry and I are paying," she said. "It's our present to Mum."

"Are you sure you don't need me to—" he began, but she cut him off.

"No, no, it's truly fine. We've got it covered," she replied, fanning herself with a chequebook and rolling her eyes. "Stop stalling, and get back to Hermione."

"I will," he replied. "See you around, sis."

"Probably much more than you'd want to," she called to him, as he picked up his cloak.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I'm heading off to Ireland, on Wednesday, and staying there 'til Sunday. Then that's the end of the International Tour – I'm back in Britain for the rest of the season."

"Oh, that's good news," he said.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Now, go!" she laughed, pointing in the direction of the door.

"I'm going, I'm going!" he said jokily. "Time to face the music . . . not that I don't deserve it . . ."

* * *

**I would dearly love to say "don't worry, Chapter 11 won't be long!" However, I don't want to lie to you, and I know that with my insane workload at ****the moment, a quick update is just not going to happen. However, have patience, and I'll update when I can – I promise you that I'm NOT abandoning this story (it's just sort of on a permanent hiatus :S ) **

**10 points to anyone who spotted the Doctor Who reference . . . :D**


	11. Resolutions

**DISCLAIMER: O****f course I own Harry Potter. I also own a house on the moon and a time machine. **

Remember me? I thought not . . . once again, **I am ****so sorry** for failing to update faster – my life literally leaves me with no spare time at the moment. It's rather rubbish. But I'll do my best to update as and when I can – I have exams in Bio, Chem and Physics in Jan, but they finish on the 11th, so I'm planning to write loads when they're done. **Extra-special sorryness for being unable to send individual review replies – I feel horribly guilty about it. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up over the Christmas hols. (Belated) Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you all :) **

**

* * *

**

When he arrived back at Hermione's flat, Charlie found her bedroom door shut tightly, even though it was only nine o'clock. He waited until a quarter to midnight, but there was no sign of her coming out, and eventually he gave up and went to his own bedroom to go to bed. Intending to speak to her before she left for the Ministry the following morning, he set his alarm for half past seven, but when he left his room ten minutes later, he found that she was already gone (which was rather ridiculous when he thought about it – whoever heard of a student who was out of the house at _seven forty_ in the morning?).

He left at the much more respectable time of nine o'clock, deciding he would talk to her when they both returned from work (and after he'd cooked her a delicious meal, of course). But when he returned, at six pm, he found a note on the kitchen table in Hermione's handwriting, informing him that she had gone to her friends Isabelle and Coralie's house for dinner, and not to bother cooking anything for her. She eventually returned at nine thirty, said hello pleasantly to him, but before he could say anything more than 'hi' back, she insisted that she had a very important test to study for, and was going to shut herself up in her room so that she could study, if he'd excuse her anti-social behaviour.

The same routine repeated itself on Thursday, except that she said that she had to meet Harry, Ron and some others from their Auror class for drinks in the Snitch and Salamander, and when she got back (again, nearly three and a half hours after he did) she insisted that she was exhausted, and had to go straight to bed.

In two days, she'd barely spoken two sentences to him, and Charlie was beginning to despair. His feeling got worse when he got up extra early on Friday morning, and caught her just leaving, her hand full of floo powder.

"Hermione! Wait!" he called, just as she was about to step into the fire.

She turned round, not quite frowning at him, but not exactly looking very happy, either. "Yes?" she asked, looking very pointedly at her clock, which had just chimed seven fifteen.

"Hermione . . ." he began, gesturing feebly with his hands. "I'm . . . I . . ."

"Look, Charlie, I'm really sorry, but I have to go," she said, her voice pleasant but firm.

"It's seven fifteen in the morning," he pointed out.

"I know," she replied. "But I'm very busy. I have to leave now, I'm afraid. Was it something important you wanted to say to me?"

His shoulders slumped, crestfallen. "No, nothing important," he said. Hermione half-hesitated – he looked so desolate that she wanted to reach out and ask him what was wrong, if there was anything she could do . . . but then she remembered how he had treated her the other night. She squared her shoulders and smiled falsely at him.

"I'll see you later then," she said, picking up her bag and calling "the Ministry of Magic!" into the flames, as she threw the floo powder in.

"Hermione, wait!" he called, changing his mind just as she vanished, but nothing happened. He sighed. He hadn't expected her to turn back . . . but he guessed that he had had a vague hope. _Damn it, Weasley, you've really screwed this one up_, he thought, resigning himself to a cold shower and a piece of toast for breakfast.

* * *

Hermione heard Charlie's voice in the echoing down the floo, and half turned to go back to the flat. Unfortunately, the floo system did not respond well to her sudden change of mind, and she fell out of the grate headfirst at the Ministry, chocking on the soot that had flown up her nose.

"Hermione!" exclaimed a voice. "Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes. A pair of ankles, wearing red and yellow striped socks was sanding directly in her line of vision. She looked up, and saw Mr. Weasley staring down anxiously at her. He extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. "Are you alright?" he repeated.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she reassured him.

"Good, good," he said, still peering at her anxiously. "But I didn't just mean about just now – Molly's been so worried about you ever since you broke up with Ron. She thinks that—"

"Please tell her that I am absolutely fine," Hermione said calmly, placing a hand on Mr Weasley's arm and patting him reassuringly. "I know that she worries, but really, I'm completely fine. Everything's great. She needn't worry about me."

"I'll tell her that," Mr. Weasley. "It won't stop her fretting, but I'll tell her." Hermione chuckled. Mr. Weasley yawned involuntarily. "Oh, excuse me. I've been on the go all night – had some trouble with a group of youngsters down in Somerset – they thought that no one would notice the fact that they were setting off magical fireworks left, right and centre just because it's Bonfire Night. Honestly, the amount of memories we had to wipe . . . and I'm sure that some of those fireworks were Wheezes' ones . . . I must have a word with George about exactly whom he's selling his products to. The amount of paperwork I've had because of it," he shook his head, and then yawned hugely again.

"I really think you ought to be getting home, Mr. Weasley," suggested Hermione gently.

"Yes, yes, you're right," he muttered distractedly, yawning for a third time. "Sorry, I'm not really with it." He took a handful of floo powder, and turned back to Hermione, still standing in the enormous entrance hall. "Oh, before I forget – Molly asked me to as you to a small gathering she's having – Charlie's last day over here is on the fifteenth – she wondered if you'd like to come over for a small dinner to say goodbye to him? I know you don't know him that well, but Molly would like to see you again – she's loving Celestina's autobiography, by the way." He looked over at her hopefully.

"Um . . . yes, of course I'll be there," said Hermione, attempting a bright smile. Mr. Weasley looked pleased.

"Oh, good, I'll go and tell her right away," he said, throwing the powder into the grate. "Take care of yourself, Hermione," he called.

"You too – and give my love to Molly!" she called back as he disappeared. She glanced at her watch once he had gone. Only half past seven. That was the problem with getting up at the crack of dawn (in fact, even before that – the time of year meant that it hadn't been light yet when she left the house) in order to avoid someone – it left you with a good few hours to kill before anyone else actually surfaced. Fortunately for her, though, there was a 24 hour canteen a few corridors away, where she could go and get a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee whilst re-reading _A Short History of the Rules and Regulations Regarding the Purchase of Magical Creatures in the British Isles_. If she managed not to fall asleep, that was.

**

* * *

**

"Urgh!" Ron exclaimed, throwing himself down in a chair and knocking the table so that Hermione's mug of hot chocolate sloshed dangerously.

"Careful," she warned, lifting it up before it could spill over her essay. "What's up?" asked, looking at Ron's stormy face.

"Ah, nothing much," he said. It was lunchtime, and Hermione was once again in the canteen, though this time it appeared that she had company. She raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really, it's nothing," he insisted. "It's just Mum – I had a free morning, so I thought I'd pop round and see how she was."

"Is she OK?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"Oh yeah, she's fine – not ill or anything," Ron hurried to reassure her. "Are you going to eat that?" he asked, pointing to her cheesecake slice.

"Yes," she replied, narrowing her eyes and pulling the plate protectively towards her. "But, you were saying about your Mum?"

"Yeah, anyway," he said, still looking longingly at her pudding. "So, I was round there, and she started talking about relationships. It started off all 'So, you and Hermione aren't together anymore, then?', and I was like 'No, we broke up a couple of weeks ago'. And she kept dropping, uh, subtle—" he made air quotes around the word, "—hints about us getting back together. And I was trying to explain to her that me and you still love each other, but, you know, not in that way. That we'd decided to be just friends, but not to go in for the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. And _then_, she started going on about how the only reason we weren't dating anymore, the only reason I'd lost you, was because I was no good at relationships!"

He looked so indignant that Hermione couldn't help but laugh. He mock-glared at her. "I'm sorry," she giggled. "Here, have some cheesecake." He brightened immediately, and she shook her head in wonder. "I really can't believe that your mother didn't feed you," she said.

"Oh, she did," he replied, tucking in anyway. "I'm just still hungry, that's all."

"Honestly." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So, yeah, it was just annoying me a bit, that's all. Nothing major," Ron said around mouthfuls.

"She means well," said Hermione.

"She does," agreed Ron, though with slightly less conviction than Hermione. "It just annoys me a little bit, you know?"

"I know," said Hermione. "She cornered me in the Ladies on Tuesday, wanting to know how I was, and how _things_ were . . . I mean, she didn't mention any things in particular but it was pretty obvious she was talking about . . . us. Our break up."

"I suppose it's just something we'll have to get used to – at least until we find someone new, I guess," Ron replied.

"Yeah . . . but I like it, in a weird kind of way," Hermione said, taking a sip of her drink. "Bleugh, that's gone cold." She tapped it with her wand, and took another sip. "Mmm, much better. No, but I do like it – her worry and fretting and trying to get us back together again is just her way of showing us she cares about us. She just wants us to be happy, that's all. And maybe you're right - all we have to do is get a new partner, and she'll leave us alone." She snorted. "Cause _that's_ easy enough!"

"We could always take out an advert in the Personal's in the _Prophet_," Ron suggested. "Tall, handsome male, G.S.O.H, stunning features, kind and considerate, animal lover, loving and—"

"Whatever!" laughed Hermione.

"Oh, and what would yours be?" he teased. "Complete nerd seeks boyfriend to get ex's mother off back. Must be prepared to participate in three-way relationship with library." Hermione whacked him around the back of his head.

"That's quite enough of _that_, thank you very much!" she said primly, and Ron chuckled.

There was a pause whilst Hermione scribbled a couple of sentences down in a notebook, and Ron finished off the cheesecake, before breaking the silence. "So, speaking of new boyfriends and things . . ." he began.

"Yes?" asked Hermione, absent-mindedly chewing on the end of a quill.

"You and Charlie—"

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Hermione snapped. "Charlie and I are NOT dating! How many times do I have to—"

"No, no – I know you're not dating him," Ron said, hurrying to reassure her and avoid a confrontation. "I just . . . you . . . um . . . the other night . . . he . . . you . . . when he . . ."

"Ronald, please try to formulate your sentences in your head before you speak them. It might help you to make a bit more sense," snapped Hermione, scribbling furiously on her parchment.

"Fine," said Ron, annoyed. "The other night – what was he doing to you?"

"You make it sound like he was attacking me," said Hermione, not looking up from her parchment. "We ate dinner sitting next to each other, and then he danced with me. End of."

"No, I know that," said Ron. "Why did he leave you in the middle of the floor and run off like that?"

"Bad chicken," said Hermione, still scribbling away.

"Huh?" asked Ron.

"He must've eaten a bad piece of chicken, or something, and got food poisoning," Hermione elaborated. "That's why he had to run off and leave me."

"Oh, I see," said Ron. He looked at his watch. "C'mon, it's two o'clock. I'll walk you back to your Department."

So they walked over to Law Enforcement together, chatting aimlessly about the weather, Molly Weasley's chocolate cake and the Weird Sisters' new single. But when she was back in the lecture hall, Hermione wondered why she had lied and covered for Charlie like that. It would have been so easy just to say that she didn't know why he had left her like that, and wasn't he a jerk for doing it? Ron would have agreed with her, perhaps offered to go and "sort out" Charlie for her – a rather ironic circumstance, seeing as how just a few weeks ago (had it really been that long? It felt like months) it had been Charlie offering to sort Ron out for her. She had had no trouble, when she was going out with Ron, slagging him off and moaning about him to his siblings and her friends, she thought, slightly guiltily. And yet she was quite happy to make up excuses for Charlie's behaviour towards her, when, really, it was _in_excusable, at least in her mind. Why was that?

_Because you're in love with him_.

The little voice in her head sounded just like Ginny's, and made her gasp with shock. Coralie, sitting next to her, gave her a funny look. "Stabbed myself with my quill," she muttered, and the other girl rolled her eyes and went back to her own notes.

In love with him. In love with him, and so much so that she didn't care what he had or hadn't done the other night. Or any night, or day. He'd run off and left her, and hurt her because of it, but she still loved him.

How infuriating. There she was, trying so hard to hate him, and all she'd managed was to realise that she was in love with him. A lot. And she'd also realised it in the middle of a lecture on the rights of Merpeople in the fifteenth century.

How bizarre.

* * *

Hermione stopped by the apothecary on the way home from the Ministry, needing some potion ingredients and some bubble bath. Bending down to pick up a packet of ground beetles, she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologised, before realising that it was Fleur. "Oh, hi Fleur!" she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Eet ees nothing," the other woman reassured her, handing her the newt scales she had dropped. "'Ow are you, 'Ermione?" she enquired, shaking droplets of rain out of her hair.

"I'm fine thanks – a bit wet, but I can't complain," she smiled. "Yourself?"

"I am alright, also – zhough I could quite willingly strangle zose gobleens at ze moment," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Why?" enquired Hermione, as the pair of them made their way over to the counter. "What have they done now?"

"Oh, you know – zey are just so . . . ah, what ees ze word . . . picky about everyzing. I do one zing for zem, and zey say no, zat ees wrong, so I do eet again like zey say, but no! Zat ees wrong, too!" she fumed, her French accent becoming stronger the more annoyed she became. "And Bill ees no 'elp. 'E just laughs at me when I tell 'im zat I feel like 'anging zem upside down by zere feengernails!"

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "That's men, though, isn't it?" she said. "Not just goblins, but all men. They can't do anything right, and yet they expect you to just . . . urgh!" she finished, wordless for once.

"I zink zat we need to go and 'ave a cake and a whinge," said Fleur, nodding wisely. "Come on, I know a lovely leetle place just around ze corner where we can go. Actually, I would like a plate of cheeps instead. We shall get that." Hermione, wondering when she had agreed to this, felt herself being guided out into the high street and performed a simple spell on her umbrella so that it covered both her and Fleur unsupported as they walked along.

Twenty minutes later, the pair of them were seated in a warm, bustling café on the edge of Diagon Alley, a hot plate of chips in front of Fleur and a steaming mug off coffee in front of Hermione. Fleur tentatively bit a chip, swallowed, and closed her eyes. Then she smiled, and ate three more in quick succession. "Ah, zat is much better," she said, pronounced relief written all over her face. "I was feeling vairy seek before," she explained, at Hermione's puzzled look.

"It's the complex carbohydrates," Hermione explained, and it was Fleur's turned to look slightly confused. "The complex carbohydrates in the chips are what stop you from feeling sick. I don't know why, but they're supposed to help with the nausea."

"Yes – a piece of dry toast in ze mornings can 'elp too," Fleur said.

"Suffering badly from morning sickness, then?" Hermione asked, not without sympathy.

"Morning seekness, afternoon seekness, evening seekness," replied Fleur, rolling her eyes. "I 'ave to eat somezing on ze hour every hour or else I feel terrible," she added with a sigh. "And zose goblins – zey 'ave me running about everywhere all ze time, and I forget to eat, or I am too busy . . . oh, eet ees terrible!"

Hermione made a sympathetic face. "It is just because they are men, they don't understand anything," she said, only half-joking. "But I'm sure that that constitutes some form of sexual harassment – I could look into it, if you wanted?"

"No, no, I will be alright," Fleur insisted, still eating chips. "Eet ees nothing too bad. Just a leetle bit annoying, that is all. But I wanted to talk to you, 'Ermione," she added, looking rather severely at her over the rather greasy plastic table cloth.

"You did?" asked Hermione, wondering if she had done something to inadvertently upset either Fleur or her husband.

"I did," the other woman replied, wiping her lips delicately on a tissue. "About Bill's brozer."

"Which one?" joked Hermione, though the sinking feeling in her stomach gave her a slight clue as to which one they were talking about.

"You know which one," said Fleur, narrowing her eyes. "Eet ees written all over your face. What I wanted to say was – and I 'ope you'll excuse me, because I really should be minding my own business as Bill says, and you can eegnore me if you want – but I 'ave to give you some advice."

"You do?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, I must. You like 'im – don't try to deny it – and 'e likes you, but 'e did somezing, or you did somezing, and now 'e ees upset, and zo are you and blah blah blah, 'oo knows what ees going on, but ze point I am trying to make ees that it doesn't matter. 'E did somezing stupid, or you did, I don't care what 'appened, but you 'ave to see 'ow much eet ees upsetting 'im. And you – you look terrible, as zough you 'ave not slept for a week!"

Hermione frowned. "Well, we can't all be—" she began, hurt.

"Oh, I am sorry," Fleur cut across her, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I did not zink; I was stupid. _Je suis desolée_. I was trying to say zat you two should let bygones be bygones, because whatever 'appened ees obviously upsetting you, and you should just give it all up and get back togezer."

"An excellent plan," Hermione said, dryly. "Except that we weren't ever together in the first place."

"Oh, I am sorry!" Fleur said, tears pooling in her eyes. "I am sorry – I 'ave upset you; I did not mean to, I am _très stupide_ . . . I should 'ave leestened to Bill, 'e told me to mind my own business, but I, I did not think and now . . ."

By this point, Fleur was sobbing so hard that her words were completely unintelligible, and the other patrons of the café were looking around at the pair of them, alarmed. Hermione was horrified – what was she supposed to do now? "Er . . . it's OK, Fleur, I'm alright. You didn't upset me, I'm fine, look," she smiled brightly, but Fleur, her face buried in her hands, did not look up, sobbing harder than ever. "Oh blimey . . ." Hermione muttered to herself. "Um . . . here, have a tissue. Look it's OK, I'm not upset. Really. I was just being a little bit sarcastic, that's all. I'm fine, truly. Please don't cry, it's OK," she soothed her.

Eventually Fleur calmed down, accepting the tissues Hermione was offering her and giving her a watery smile. "I am sorry," she sniffed. "Eet ees these damned 'ormones. I cannot do anyzing except cry zese days. Ze tiniest leetle thing sets me off and . . ." She gestured feebly and her eyes welled up again.

"Oh, that's OK, it's fine, I completely understand," Hermione said, filled with alarm at the thought of another bout of tears. "Look, why don't you have a cake or something, that'll cheer you up, hmm?"

"Eet ees alright; I zink we should be going now," she said, wiping her face gently. "I 'ave scared off the other customers, no, with my wailing?"

Hermione gave a weak laugh, and called the waiter over. They paid for their food, and left, Hermione still eyeing Fleur warily. To her relief, the other woman did not appear to be about to burst into tears again, and the pair of them continued off down Diagon Alley. "I must leave you 'ere," Fleur said, pausing outside Gringotts. "I am meeting Bill when 'ere in a few minutes – 'e works later than I do on a Friday. But I will see you again soon, I 'ope? I am sorry for crying all over you."

"Really, it's fine," Hermione reassured her. "And I'll think about what you said, about Ch—er, men, and all that."

"I will see you soon, zen," said Fleur, walking up the steps of the bank and waving to her.

"Bye!" Hermione called. She glanced at her watch. It was only a quarter past four, and she reckoned she could get a little bit of early Christmas shopping in before she went home. She needed to clear her head and think for a little while before she saw Charlie (and she also needed to get some presents) so she set off down the High Street once more.

She was able to pick up book on the History of the Chuddley Cannons for Ron, a book on mysterious magical creatures for Luna, by someone called Rolf Scamander, and a few festive smelling toiletries for her friends Isabelle and Coralie (which were already out in the shop's Christmas section, though it was only 3rd November). She was passing by George's joke shop, when she spotted the owner himself, putting up a sign in the window advertising half price Wonder Witch products. He waved her over, and she dodged the pedestrians to cross over to his side of the road.

"Hey, Hermione," George said, smiling over at her. "I'm glad I've seen you – there's something I really needed to talk to you about."

"Oh, not you, as well!" she exploded, exasperated. "Every single bloody person I've spoken to today has asked me about this! I do not want to do any more self analysis, or whatever the hell they call it! Just don't bother asking, alright?"

"Don't bother asking about Katie's bracelet?" George asked, completely confused.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"What?" blinked George.

"I'm—"

"You—" they began at the same time.

"Come on in," said George, opening the shop door, and ushering her inside. Hermione glanced around, still impressed at what George had managed to do with his shop after the war. At first, he had been in danger of going under, unable to cope with Fred's death and certainly with all the trials and tribulations that came with running a joke store. But, eventually, with help from the Weasley family and his friends, he had pulled through and saved the store. Business was now booming, the shelves filled to bursting point with all sorts of merchandise, some of which had Hermione backing away nervously at the labels of its contents. Best of all, Fred was there to oversee it all; smiling and winking from a picture behind the counter. The words 'Fred Weasley, war hero, Order of Merlin, 1st Class' hung above the picture in gold writing, and below it, in a smaller font, read the words, 'In loving memory of all those who fought so bravely against Lord Voldemort, and so tragically lost their lives. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.' It had been Arthur and Molly's gift to their son, the Christmas after the Battle, and, arguably, the motivation that he needed to get the shop up and running again.

"So, how are you?" George asked her, flipping the sign on the door to 'closed'.

"I'm good, thanks," Hermione said, skipping over her earlier outburst. "Yourself?"

"Good, good," said George, opening the till.

"That's good," Hermione said absently.

George rolled his eyes. "Intelligent conversation, no?" he asked. Hermione giggled.

"_Any_way," she said, helping herself to a biscuit out of the tin behind the counter. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about? Something about a necklace for Katie . . .? By the way this isn't going to turn be into a fluorescent green pigeon, or something, is it?"

"Of course not, it's from my private stash," he said. "There'd be no use me turning myself into a fluorescent green pigeon – nice idea, though. No, what I wanted to talk to you about was this!" he finished triumphantly, pulling a brown paper bag from the back of the till.

"A paper bag," Hermione deadpanned. "Wow. She'll love it, I'm sure."

"Enough with the sarcasm, missy," George said, pulling a box from inside the bag. "That's my line of work. You're the intelligent one, remember?"

"Whatever," said Hermione. "I'm not just—oh, my Goodness! It's beautiful! George! Katie'll love it!" George had removed a simple diamond necklace from the box which somehow managed to be plain and simple and beautifully ornate, all at the same time.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You're not just saying that?"

"Of course I'm not. It's gorgeous. Beautiful. Katie will . . . she'll adore it. Simple as that."

"Thank Merlin! I've been worrying about it since I've brought it," George said, placing it back inside the box and hiding it away again.

"You needn't worry. It's beautiful," said Hermione. "But is it really safe to be keeping it in the till?"

"Yeah – that's a little invention of mine," said George. "Everything I put in there, other than a few pieces of loose change near the front, goes straight to a vault in my flat. Anyone other than me, or someone who I've coded the machine to recognise, who puts their hands in there, gets a _very_ nasty shock, I can tell you."

"Oooh," said Hermione, looking impressed. "Get you! Impressive."

"Thank you, thank you," George said, bowing. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Get on with you!" she said, hopping off the counter. "Anyway, I'd best be off. Nice seeing you, and all."

"You, too – use the floo if you want," George invited.

"Thanks," said Hermione taking a handful of powder.

"Hey, Hermione!" he called, as she was about to step into the fireplace.

"What?"

"What were you talking about earlier, when I asked you to come in? The massive rant?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," Hermione said evasively.

"No seriously . . . it wouldn't have anything to do with one of my brothers, would it?" George asked.

Hermione closed her eyes. "George," she said. "I've psychoanalyzed myself enough today, and I do not need you attempting to do it for the fourth or fifth time. Please, just don't ask." She opened her eyes again, and called the address of her flat into the fireplace. "For which you can read 'yes'."

_So, it was one of my brothers_, George mused to himself. _The question is, is it the one I think it is_?

**

* * *

**

Charlie let himself into the flat cautiously, and immediately spied Hermione, sitting on the sofa in a pair of bright pink jogging bottoms, her legs curled under her and a slight frown on her face, as she scribbled lightly on the pages of a book. He hoped to slip in unnoticed, but she looked up, seeing him. "Hi," she said, smiling politely. He gave her a smile back, and returned the greeting, going to hang his cloak up in the kitchen. "Oh, blimey," Hermione said, stretching and yawning as he returned. "I'm exhausted, aren't you?"

"Er, no – I'm Charlie," he said, offering a hand for her to shake.

She didn't laugh, but she didn't curse him into three million tiny pieces, either, which was probably a good sign, he thought. "_That_ was a pun worthy of George," she said. "Please don't say anything as bad as that again!"

"I'll try not to," he assured her. "How was our day?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," she replied, waving a hand. "Yours?"

"Like you said, nothing spectacular," Charlie said. "Much work to do?" he asked, indicating her books.

"A fair bit," she said. "Mostly just revision – I've got exams coming up before Christmas; two on the seventeenth and one on the eighteenth."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," said Charlie. There was an awkward pause. "Um . . . I was hoping to get a chance to speak to you, Hermione. I . . . uh . . . I just wanted to say that, about the other night, I am so sorry – I don't know what—"

"Don't worry about," Hermione interrupted him. "It's fine. Seriously."

"No, but really, I just wanted—"

"Charlie, it's fine," Hermione assured him. "Come on, let's go and make some dinner."

She leapt up from the sofa and went over to the kitchen. Charlie followed her. "Seriously, Hermione, I really wanted to say sorry, and—"

"Do you fancy spaghetti? I do. Let's make some spaghetti. I'll make the sauce," Hermione said, putting on the radio at the same time.

"Er, I'll make the sauce," Charlie said hurriedly. "Hermione, please listen."

"Charlie, you listen," said Hermione, placing a couple of saucepans on the counter. "Just forget about what happened the other night. It's ancient history. Let's just get over it, and make some spaghetti."

"If you're sure . . .?" he asked, uncertain.

"I'm sure I'm sure," said Hermione firmly. "Positive. Ooh, I'm thirsty. I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

"Only if you think it'll suit you," said Charlie cheekily, before ducking as Hermione through a teaspoon at him.

**

* * *

**

October became November, the weather staying wet and cold and the evenings becoming darker earlier, mists falling and the air becoming decidedly wintry, as opposed to pleasantly autumnal. Though Charlie and Hermione were back to their usual easy camaraderie, things weren't as natural as they had once been. Conversations between them were friendly, of course, but no longer bordering on flirtatious; instead there was a very courteous politeness between them, as though they were both actors in a period drama, Hermione thought. Everything was just so chaste and virtuous, with Charlie not wanting to upset her by doing anything that could be remotely interpreted as close to what he had done the other night, and her not wanting to upset him by bringing up the fact that she had noticed.

And anyway, what was she supposed to say? "I want you to flirt with me again"? Because _that_ wouldn't make her seem desperate . . .

All in all, Charlie's last couple of weeks of his stay with her weren't nearly as fun and relaxed as the first month, but he was still good company and able to make her laugh, even if he did come across as bit Victorian in his morals.

The day of his departure arrived almost before they knew it, and Friday 15th November dawned, with Hermione stumbling out of her bedroom into the cold of her flat to find Charlie already up and about, packing his stuff (which, naturally, had managed to spread itself into every nook and cranny of the small flat) up into his trunk. "'Morning," Hermione yawned, pouring herself a mug of coffee from the pot on the side.

"Hi," Charlie said, smiling brightly. "How're you this morning?"

"Good, thanks," Hermione replied. "I'm—oh, _fudge_! Look at the time! I've got to run!"

And that, really, was the extent of their conversations for the day, Hermione realised at ten pm that night, rather sadly. Realising that she'd unwittingly overslept that morning, she'd performed a fifteen minute mad dash of showering, finding something to wear, grabbing something to eat and throwing her books into her satchel, before leaving for the Ministry and arriving in the Lecture Hall thirty-seven seconds before the Professor started the seminar.

At lunchtime, extended until two fifteen due to a delayed start for her afternoon lectures, she'd been persuaded by Isabelle and Coralie to go to a little muggle cinema just down the road to watch a rather plotless little romantic comedy, and she'd spend the rest of the afternoon either in the lecture hall or in the library, researching a very important paper.

She'd left at five thirty, going straight from the Ministry to The Burrow, where nearly everyone else was already there. She ended up chatting to most people throughout the evening, though not Charlie, apart from a few words here and there. At dinner, she found herself wedged between Ginny and Percy, and conversed with both of them (though mostly Ginny, it had to be said).

After the meal was over, a couple of bottles of wine were opened, and people began to relax, lounging around on the sofas, talking and laughing together. At half past eleven, Molly suggested that Fleur and Bill stay over for the night, in Bill's old room as she had fallen asleep and was pretty unresponsive (save for a few muttered French words that didn't sound all that polite) when Bill tried to wake her. This lead to everyone else deciding that they, too, would stay in their old rooms, so Molly hastily sorted out the sleeping arrangements. Charlie was to have his old room, and Penelope, who had come round with Percy, could have Percy's old room. Percy would share with George (Katie had been unable to come, due to spending the weekend at her parents' in Coventry); Harry with Ron and Hermione with Ginny. It would be cramped, but they'd manage.

"So, did you and Charlie make up in the end?" Ginny asked Hermione once they were up in her room and waiting for the bathroom to be free.

"Course we did," Hermione said, sitting on Ginny's bed and combing through her hair as her friend did sit-ups on the floor. "And is that really necessary?"

"Course it is," grunted Ginny. "Gotta – keep – fit," she panted. "Phew. Twenty-five. I'm done. So, stop changing the subject. Spill the whatsits. Tell me all about his grovelling. Did he buy you flowers? Chocolates? Very expensive jewellery?"

"No, don't be daft," said Hermione. "I just told him to forget it, it wasn't worth it. We just dropped it in the end."

"What?" Ginny asked, confused. She accompanied Hermione to the bathroom, both girls clutching their toothbrushes. "He didn't even give you a reason?" Hermione shook her head.

"No, he didn't need to," she said, sitting on the edge of the bathtub as Ginny removed her mascara. "I figured that it didn't matter anymore. I'd made it out to be this huge thing, and really, it wasn't that important. I'd overreacted, and the whole thing got overblown. It was much easier just to say forget about it, let's move on, than to continue to hold a grudge."

Ginny stared at her for a moment. "That's very . . . mature of you," she said, after a moment's pause.

"Thank you," Hermione said. They both cleaned their teeth, and headed back to Ginny's room.

"Seriously, though," said Ginny. "That _is _very mature. I doubt I'd be able to do that, if something happened between me and Harry."

"Well, I hope it never will," said Hermione, going to close the door as Ginny climbed into her bed. She let out a giggle.

"What is it?" asked the red-head.

"I've . . . um . . . just seen Percy," she said, still chuckling. "He's disappearing off to Penelope's room."

"I see," said Ginny, and the pair of them dissolved into giggles as if they were fourteen again. They talked for ten minutes or so, before there was a knock on Ginny's door. She went to open it and they saw Harry standing there.

"Hey, Gin. D'you want to—o-oh, hello Hermione," he blushed beet red. "I . . . um . . . didn't realise you'd be here."

"Well, where did you think she'd be?" hissed Ginny. "On the roof?! Bunking with Bill and Fleur?!"

"No, I, uh, never mind, uh, I'll just be going now," said Harry, taking several steps backwards.

"No, don't mind me, I'll find somewhere else to sleep," said Hermione, in a bright tone, as if these sorts of things were a perfectly normal occurance.

"No, really, I'll be going," said Harry, as Ginny also protested that she should stay.

"Really," said Hermione, walking out of the door and shoving Harry bodily inside the room. "I'll be fine," she added. "You two have fun now." She winked and shut the door with a click.

Ginny opened it again immediately. "Hermione," she whispered, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. "You don't want to be doing this. I'll kick Harry out, and you can—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Gin," said Hermione. "I'm alright, really. You keep him with you; I know you'd rather be with him than me – and don't try to pretend. He's your fiancé, so that's OK. I'll cope. See you in the morning." She waved and began to walk off.

"Hermione!" Ginny whispered, louder this time.

"Shush!" murmured Hermione. "You really don't want to wake your mother, do you? Now get back in there, before I hex you!" She waited until she was sure that Ginny had returned to her own room, and then started off down the hallway. Truthfully, she did feel a little annoyed at Harry – where was she supposed to sleep now? She supposed that she'd have to go and see if Ron would mind her sleeping on Harry's old camp-bed . . .

She crept off down the hallway, trying not to wake anyone who was already asleep. Too late.

"Who's that?" Molly Weasley's voice sounded sleepily from inside her bedroom.

"Er . . . just me, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione called back.

"Hermione dear? Are you alright?" asked the older woman. Hermione heard the bed creaking.

"I'm fine – don't get up," she reassured her. "I'm just off to get a drink of water, if that's OK?"

"Of course dear – make sure you get a good night's sleep, won't you?" Molly asked.

"Of course I will," replied Hermione. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight dear."

Hermione went for the stairs up to the third floor, so she could find Ron, but before she could reach them, she felt a hand being placed over her mouth and she was dragged bodily into a different bedroom. "Don't scream, it's only me," a voice whispered in her ear.

"Charlie!" she exclaimed. "What are you playing at?"

"I overheard what happened with Harry and Ginny – that was very nice of you," he said. "But now you need somewhere to kip for the night, and I think I should offer you my bed, seeing as I had your flat since the end of September."

"You don't have to do that," Hermione protested.

"Oh really? Where else are you going to go?" asked Charlie dryly.

"Well, I was thinking maybe Ron's room . . ." she trailed off.

"Yeah, because that wouldn't be awkward," he rolled his eyes, and turned the lights on.

Hermione shielded her eyes at the brightness for a moment, but took the opportunity to look around Charlie's room. It was very small – it contained a bed, a wardrobe, a wicker chair and a bookshelf – but it was surprisingly neat, and everything looked clean and well-dusted (though she suspected that that was due to Molly Weasley, rather than her son). It was painted in a shade of bright red, and there was still an old Gryffindor flag on the one wall, though this didn't surprise her.

Charlie was digging through the wardrobe, and came up with a pillow and a couple of old blankets. "Thanks," said Hermione, going to take them from him.

"No, it's fine – I'll sleep on the floor," said Charlie, sitting down on the floorboards. Hermione winced.

"No, really, you've got to let me do that," she said. "I can't kick you out of your own bed, now can I?"

"Do you really think I'm going to let a woman sleep on the floor?" he asked gallantly. Hermione paused for a moment. "What?" he asked.

"I'm trying to work out if that's sexist and misogynistic, or just sweet," she said.

"Any decisions yet?" he asked.

"Nope," she replied. "Merlin, I'm adding a lot to this conversation, aren't I?" Charlie laughed. "Come on, come up here," she added, patting the bed. "We can top-and-tail. And please do it, else I'll spend all night worrying."

"Worrying about what?" he asked.

"You being cold and uncomfortable on the floor," she replied.

"I won't—"

"Just sit up here, would you?!" Hermione interrupted. "Or else we'll spend the whole night arguing!"

"Sorry," Charlie said sheepishly. He came and sat at one end of the bed, and she sat at the other, looking at him. He raised an eyebrow, and she did the same. Her glance was questioning, answering, all-knowing, and innocent at the same time, and he sighed. "Hermione . . ."

He ran out of words, and she didn't help him, she just kept looking at him. Looking and looking, reading his soul and at the same time having no idea what he was trying to say. "Hermione, I . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . I didn't mean to . . ."

"I know." Her voice was level, steady, calm. He reached over, and took her small, soft hands in his rough, calloused ones.

"I'm so sorry," he said, never once looking anywhere but in her eyes. "I'm sorry for . . . at the party. I didn't mean to leave you. I won't do it again." She refrained from pointing out that his promise would be rendered null and void the very next morning, when he took his Portkey to Romania, because she could feel that that wasn't what he was trying to say. "If . . . if you'll let me, I won't ever leave you again. I was scared, and it made me foolish. I didn't want . . . people-" and she understood that he meant his mother – "to think that we were . . . committed to each other. But I think that . . . I would like to be . . . committed to you."

She leant forward until her face was practically touching his. "I understand," she said. "I know. I'm . . . yes," she finished, unable to work her brain or her voice well enough to put into words what she was trying to say, but he understood her. He moved so that he was sitting next to her, and wrapped the duvet around them both. She lay down, snuggled in his arms, and he stroked her hair with his free hand.

They lay in silence, their breathing becoming synchronized, as though their bodies had just been waiting for this moment to come along, so that they could just _be_ together. She could hear his heartbeat, and it reassured her more than any other sound in the world possibly could.

She was _feeling_ so much that it scared her. Surely it wasn't possible for one person to be this full of emotion and still be alive? Surely this violated all laws of nature? How could one person – one person, whom she'd known for a mere six weeks – make her feel this way?

"Hermione?" His voice was a whisper, and his breath tickled her neck.

"Hmm?"

"Your parents . . . do you still . . . do you think about them often?"

"I think about them always," she answered. "I think about them so much that my heart _hurts_. I want them to be . . . I wish they were . . . It isn't fair that they died when they had come back here; survived the entire war; hadn't been attacked by Death Eaters, or any of Lord Voldemort's supporters . . . nothing like that. They were in a car crash. A _car crash_! Of all the things . . . after all they'd been through. They were killed because the car skidded on the wet road in one of those summer thunderstorms that come upon you suddenly and . . ."

Her voice didn't break; it just stopped. It no longer seemed to work.

A tear ran down her cheek, and Charlie caught it in his hand. "But _they came back_," he said, twisting round to look at her. "They came back after the war, so that they could be proud of their wonderful, brilliant, brave, clever, fabulous, genius of a daughter. They knew about what happened two years ago, what you did. It doesn't matter if you believe that they're up there, in heaven or whatever, or just a pile of atoms in the ground. They came back, and they saw you. They knew that you saved the world. I bet they were the proudest parents in all the world."

"As proud as anyone's parents ever are, I guess," replied Hermione. "And I didn't save the world, I merely—"

"Yes, you did, and you know it," replied Charlie. "But you must believe me when I say that you aren't alone. You've got me, and Harry and Ron and Ginny, and your friends at work, and my entire family . . . the Longbottoms, and the Lovegoods . . . everyone up at Hogwarts, and . . . and none of them are your family, your parents, are they?"

She shook her head, and he sighed.

"I guess it's like with . . . Fred," he said. "If people said that . . . I mean, it's like someone might say that I have four other brothers. And a sister. So if one died, I mean it's . . . well, it's . . ."

"Did someone say that to you?" Hermione asked, her voice hardening.

"No, no they didn't," Charlie hastened to reassure her. "No one's said anything like that at all. It's just that they might theoretically say something like it, but it doesn't stop the fact that Fred's dead, and he's my little brother, and it makes my heart break in two. But I'll carry on, and so will you. Maybe it'll get easier one day, maybe it won't. But for now we can just . . ."

"Be a pair of miseryguts together, and keep each other company?" she suggested, with something that wasn't quite a chuckle, but wasn't far off, either.

"Something like that," he replied, holding her closer.

"Something like that, indeed," she agreed. And gradually, by degrees, she fell asleep in Charlie's arms.

**

* * *

**

"Charlie. Charlie! Wake up!"

He became aware of a voice murmuring in his ear, and something shaking his right shoulder. He opened his eyes, and saw Bill standing over him, looking half amused and half worried. He blinked twice, and looked at what Bill was looking at. Hermione. Her arms curled around him.

"It's . . . it's not what it looks like?" he offered feebly. Bill's eyebrows climbed ever higher up his face. "It isn't!" Charlie hissed, careful not to wake her. "Look, she's still wearing her pyjamas, and everything."

"If you say so, little brother. If you say so," Bill responded.

"I didn't . . . what are you doing in here anyway? What time is it?" Charlie demanded in a low voice, carefully sitting up so as he didn't disturb Hermione.

"It's 5:45 in the morning. Your Portkey leaves from the Ministry in forty five minutes," Bill said.

"Oh, buggeration!" exclaimed Charlie. "I need to . . ."

"Pack? Shower? Get Hermione out of here before Mum sees her and starts designing the bridesmaid's gowns?" Charlie, who was out of bed and sifting through his trunk for a clean T Shirt and a pair of jeans, through a shoe at his brother, who caught it deftly, and placed it on the floor.

"Shush!" hissed Charlie, indicating the still peacefully sleeping Hermione.

"I'm not the one throwing my bloody shoes around the place!" retorted Bill. "So, did you two—"

"What are you doing in here so early in the morning?" Charlie interrupted.

"Fleur woke up early, feeling sick," Bill explained. "I had to go and fetch her a piece of toast, because the complex carbohydrates in bread settle the stomach, due to the . . . uh . . . something."

"Do you even have a clue what you're going on about?" asked Charlie, extracting his toothbrush from a small bag.

"No, but . . ."

"When you don't know what you're talking about, talk bollocks?"

"Yeah, something like that," Bill replied. There was a pause, as Charlie repacked his trunk, and pulled on his fresh clothes. "So," said Bill.

"So?" asked Charlie.

"So, are you and Hermione . . .?" Bill trailed off.

"Yeah . . . no . . . yes," Charlie replied, somewhat vaguely. "I think we are . . . I don't know what we are. But when I finally figure out what it is that we are, I think that I'll decide that we are it."

"When I eventually figure out what that means, I've no doubt I'll think of a witty and humorous riposte," Bill said. "For now, though, I'll settle for you are insane and obviously very confused."

"Thanks," Charlie said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," said Bill, getting up from the chair on which he had been sitting. "I can hear Mum getting up. I reckon I can stall her enough with Fleur's morning sickness so that you can have five or ten minutes with Hermione."

"Thanks, mate," Charlie replied, seriously for once. Bill slipped out of the room, and Charlie went and sat on the edge of his bed, gently shaking Hermione. "Hey. Wake up. Hermione!"

She opened her eyes blearily, and looked up into Charlie's face, confused. Memories of the previous night came back to her, and she smiled. He grinned back at her. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied.

"I've . . . uh . . . got to go," he said. "My Portkey leaves in half an hour and I've got to check in fifteen minutes before, which is a pain. But I just wanted to say . . . um . . . goodbye. I'm . . . I'll come back for Christmas."

"You'd better," said Hermione, squeezing his hand.

"It's only in a month. And a little bit more. Quite a little bit more," he said.

"Who are you trying to convince – me, or yourself?" she asked jokily, but she pressed her lips together and swallowed hard all the same.

"It'll be alright," Charlie said, not answering her question. "I . . . uh . . . yeah. Goodbye then, I guess."

"Goodbye, Charlie," Hermione said, as he picked up his trunk and carry-on bag and walked over to the door with them. And then in a flash, he was by her side, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips, and then he was gone again, so fast she thought he might have apparated. He popped his head around the door.

"If anyone asks, you couldn't stand Ginny's snoring so you came in here and I bunked with Percy," he said with a wink. "It might be a good idea to let him know what happened, though." She giggled. "Goodbye, Hermione."

"Goodbye," she replied. "I'll see you at Christmas."

"I can't wait."

* * *

**That last scene has been playing around my head since the end of June, so it's nice to finally get it down on paper (on screen?). And there's plenty more where that came from, as a reward for everyone who's been so patiently waiting for the pair of them to finally get their act together :)**


End file.
